


Mya

by Tasha_T



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasha_T/pseuds/Tasha_T
Summary: Mya's my best friend . . . and now she'd got a new girlfriend.  I feel a little uncertain about the whole thing . . . but Mya's an adult . . . and I'm sure she knows what she's doing.Note: My attempt at a murder mystery.  Hope you enjoy.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Mya was smiling. Why not? It was Friday night, she was at the club, she had a little buzz on and life was good. She greeted a couple as they passed and then waved across the room at a friend she hadn't seen in a while. She was a regular at the club – Dusty’s it was called – and so she knew a lot of people here.

Of course it helped that Mya was so outgoing. She was anything but shy. She liked to meet new people and get to know them. So when she spotted the young, blonde woman at the bar who looked a little nervous and uncertain, she decided to go introduce herself.

“Hey there, I haven’t seen you before,” Mya said as she slipped into the spot beside the woman. “First time here?”

The woman seemed surprised. “Uh, yeah, I . . . I just dropped in . . . I wanted to have a drink, and I . . . I . . . .”

She seemed super nervous and a bit tongue tied. Mya just gave her that big grin she was so well known for. “It’s fine,” she reassured the woman. “This is a pretty relaxed place. Everyone’s welcome . . . even if you just dropped in to see what it’s like.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Mya,” she said. “I’m sort of my own little welcoming committee here.”

The woman hesitated for just a second, but then took Mya’s hand. “Sarah,” she replied and gave Mya a shy grin.

“Is that with an ‘h’ or without?” Mya immediately asked.

The woman took a second, but then it finally dawned on her what Mya was referring to. “With an ‘h’,” she said before adding, “The proper way to spell it.” She said the last part with conviction.

Mya laughed. “I’m with you. That’s definitely the way I’d spell it.”

They both took a drink and were silent for a second.

“I’ve often thought, if I ever had a baby girl, I might name her Sarah. It’s such a pretty name.”

Sarah gave Mya a little sideways glance. “That just sounds so much like a line,” she said, but she was grinning.

Mya held up her hands. “No, seriously. That’s the truth.” She grinned too. “Trust me, if I was going to use a line on you, I wouldn’t use something that lame.”

The blonde gave Mya a fake little pout. “You’re not even trying a line on me? What, I don’t interest you at all?”

Mya was a little taken aback. It seemed so forthright when up until then Sarah had acted so shy.

The blonde seemed amused by Mya’s reaction. She laughed and then had another sip of her drink.

“So, have you got any serious plans for that baby?” Sarah asked.

Mya gave her a little smile. “Well, from what I recall from sex ed, I think there’s definitely at least one thing missing that might be key.”

Sarah nodded, as if confirming something, but didn’t comment.

Mya grinned. “Besides, I don’t even own a turkey baster.” That got a little laugh out of Sarah.

“And,” Mya continued, “I’m way too young to have a baby anyway.”

Sarah just nodded and had another drink.

The two were silent for another couple of seconds. Mya glanced around and then turned her eyes back to the Sarah. In a more serious tone she asked, “Is this your first time . . . at a place like this?”

Sarah kept her eyes straight ahead and didn’t respond for several seconds. Finally she turned and looked directly at Mya. She held Mya with her lovely blue eyes for a couple of heartbeats before finally saying, “What would make you think that?” Her voice was flat, totally noncommittal. 

Mya gave her a little smile. “You just seemed a bit nervous.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess you could be here meeting up with someone new and that’s why, or maybe you just moved to town and don’t know anyone. I suppose there could be lots of reasons why you’d be nervous . . . .”

Mya paused, but didn’t take her eyes off of Sarah, who had turned now and was watching her too.

“It was just a feeling I got, though,” she said quietly. She pulled out that big grin of hers again. “And I always like to do what I can to make it easy for any first timers.”

Sarah was smiling too now. “You do now, do you?” she said in an almost teasing voice. “Well, good thing you found me then.”

They sat there smiling at each other for a few seconds. Finally Mya said, “Do you want to dance?”

Sarah almost seemed a little surprised.

Mya downed her drink and then reached out a hand. “Come on. You’re at a club. You’ve got to dance.”

Sarah laughed, downed her drink too and then grabbed Mya’s hand and let her lead them out onto the dance floor. 

It was crowded, some couples, some groups, all moving to the beat of the music. At first glance, it was like any other dance floor at any other club. It was just if you looked closely that you’d notice that all the dancers there were women.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, God, this is like doing an aerobics workout,” Sarah said and began to fan herself with her hand as her and Mya made their way back to the bar.

It was later and the music was much louder now, so Mya had to lean in close to her ear to say, “You’re such a good dancer. Are you having fun?”

Sarah just grinned at her, slipped her arms around Mya’s shoulders and gave an enthusiastic, “Yes.”

Mya slipped her arms around Sarah’s waist as she grinned back. “Good,” she said, and the two of them just stared at each other for a few seconds.

A spot opened up at the bar, so Mya quickly squeezed her way into it and looked to get the attention of the server. Sarah came up behind her, slipped her arms around her, hugged her tight, and laid her head on Mya’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad I met you,” Sarah whispered in her ear.

Mya glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at Sarah while she gave her hand a little squeeze. 

She spotted the server coming her way so she quickly turned her attention back. Just as she did, though, she heard a commotion behind her, even over the pumping beat of the music.

It sort of shocked her to hear a very loud and very male voice say, “Fuck, Sarah, there you are. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Mya turned to see a large man who grabbed Sarah by the arm and spun her around. The crowd around the bar were universally glaring at him, but he seemed oblivious.

Sarah was glaring at him too. “Fuck you, Gino. What are you doing here? I’m just having a bit of fun, so you can fuck right off.”

“That’s not going to happen, sweetheart,” he replied with equal anger. “Do you know what fucking time it is? It’s almost twelve thirty. Don’t you fucking remember. Twelve o’clock. That’s when you’ve got to be home.”

Mya stepped forward trying to get between Sarah and the man, but he wasn’t letting that happen.

He leaned forward, stuck a meaty finger in Mya’s face and snarled, “Back the fuck up. This doesn’t concern you. This is between her and me.”

There were already a few people calling out, “Someone call the cops. Get this asshole out of here.”

That seemed to register with him. He turned back to Sarah. “Is that what you want?” He had his face right in hers. “Do you want the fucking cops to show up and start asking questions?”

He shook his head and glared. “Don’t you remember the fucking deal you made? No jail time, but you had a curfew. Midnight. You just had to be in by midnight. It was a fucking gift. But you’re too fucking stupid to even manage that, aren’t you?”

“Hey, watch your language, asshole,” Mya shouted and gave the guy a shove that didn’t move him one millimeter. This guy’s attitude was really pissing her off.

He turned on her again. “This doesn’t concern you, so back the fuck off,” he shouted.

Mya was ready to come at him again, but Sarah put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her. She gave Mya a weak smile and said, “Hey, it’s okay. Sorry about all this. I’ve got to go, though.”

Mya just looked at her, unsure how to react. 

Sarah wrenched her arm free from the man, reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. She grabbed Mya’s arm and wrote a phone number on it.

She smiled at Mya, leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. As she turned to leave with the man said, “Call me. Please.”

When Mya just stared, still in shock over what had happened, the blonde paused. The man grabbed her arm and tried to pull her, but she dug in and held her ground. “Call me,” she shouted again to Mya. 

Sarah stood there, struggling against the big man until Mya finally nodded and said, “I will.”

Sarah smiled – a big, beautiful smile that lit up her whole face. She blew Mya a kiss and then turned and let the man lead her out.


	3. Chapter 3

“So this is the Sarah . . . the one you’re spending all your time with . . . the one you can’t stop talking about . . . that Sarah?”

“Yes it is,” Mya replied. You could hear her smile, even through the phone.

“And I’m actually getting to meet her . . . this mythical creature of yours?”

Mya let out a little laugh. “Yes you are.”

“Oh my, I just feel so privileged.” I said it with my most perfect southern belle accent.

“Oh, let’s face it, you’re privileged just to be one of my friends,” Mya teased.

I couldn’t help laughing. Mya always made me laugh. She was just such a sweet, wonderful person . . . and in a lot of ways I did feel privileged to have her as a friend.

And I was very curious to actually meet this woman who seemed to have captured Mya’s heart . . . which was no small accomplishment.

Mya was wonderful in many ways, but being committed to a relationship was not one of them. She seemed to have a different girlfriend every other week. Now Mya, being Mya, never seemed to end a relationship on bad terms. I regularly found her back with someone she’d been with months earlier – whether for a night or a week – and rarely did the women involved seem to mind. It was weird and I truly didn’t understand it . . . but it worked for her. 

I just wish I knew her secret, because any relationship I’ve ever had ended with something more akin to an all out war. There’s shouting, often things thrown, a definite desire to never see the person again and usually wishes for extremely bad things to happen to them. I envision an incurable infection, maybe a cataclysmic accident or at least a plague of warts all over their face.

So maybe I’m wrong . . . maybe I’m the one with the relationship issues.

For the last several weeks, though, I’d barely been able to get any of Mya’s time, and when I did, all she wanted to talk about was Sarah.

“You know, I heard about that thing at Dusty’s. That was the night you met her, right? You never really mentioned that to me for some reason. What was that all about?”

Mya sighed – a definite sign this wasn’t really something she wanted to discuss. I ignored her, though. If there was something weird or off with this woman, I wanted to know. I’d long ago assigned myself the role of Mya’s protector. The thing was, the person she generally needed protection from was herself. She didn’t always make the best decisions – that’s my opinion, of course. She has a very different view.

“So, what was that. I heard she got into it with some big slab of meat and then he dragged her off out of there. That’s not exactly normal, Mya. What gives?”

Another sigh, followed by silence. I waited her out, though. There was no way Mya could take the silence longer than I could. That wasn’t even a contest.

She sighed again, and then finally spoke. “Okay, apparently there was some kind of drug charge . . . .”

That was all I need to hear. “Drug charge?” I cut in. “You’re girlfriend’s what? Using? Dealing? What are we talking about here?”

“Hey, I don’t know all the details, you know, but . . . .”

Really not good enough. “What do you mean you don’t know the details? Mya, you’ve got to find out the details. You’ve got to know . . . .”

It was her turn to cut in. “She’s fine,” she all but shouted at me. That was very un-Mya . . . so I was wondering if I should be concerned.

“She’s not using,” she insisted – I’m not sure if I fully believed her. “She was just experimenting, I think. She’s got a few issues, I know, but she’s really a wonderful person and I really like her and you’re going to be nice to her or I’m going to seriously kick your ass. Do you hear me?”

In spite of all my concerns I found myself laughing. Little five foot nothing Mya was going to kick my ass! That was hilarious in itself.

But Mya’s words really hit me. They were all too familiar. Mya always saw the best in people, and she was always finding ‘projects’ – broken or damaged people that she could work on. It wasn’t some ego trip thing, she really did care and she really did want to help . . . and often as not people were better for having had Mya in their life – myself included.

I just always worried that one day one of her ‘projects’ was going to blow up on her. I didn’t know how much it might hurt her – or how long she’d carry the scar – if things went badly wrong.

I worried . . . but I knew I’d never stop her, and honestly, I didn’t really think I should even try. Mya was a force for good in an otherwise uncaring, sometimes shitty world. What type of a moron would want to stop her from spreading her version of sunshine and happiness to the population? Not me.

Like I said, I just wanted her to be careful.

“So, afternoon cocktails with the lovely Sarah. I can hardly wait.” I tried to sound like I really meant it and wasn’t being sarcastic. 

I might not have been totally successful, because Mya found the need to repeat, “And you’re going to be nice, right?”

“I’ll be my usual wonderful self.”

That got me a little, “Hmph,” which might hurt some people’s feelings, but I just considered it reality.

I could be nice sometimes – if I really, really tried – but I could also be hard and a total bitch. This didn’t come as news to me. It’s just the way I was . . . the way the world had made me. Honestly, I was comfortable with it.

And Mya knew me as well as anybody, so she was well aware of the flaws in my personality. In spite of that, she was still my best friend. I had no doubts I was another of her ‘projects’, only I was apparently a long term one.

Maybe some day she’d manage to soften me up and straighten me out . . . but I didn’t see that happening any time soon.

“So the patio at Angelo’s? At two thirty?”

“Maybe we should make it three,” she said. “I told Sarah two thirty, but she’s not always so good at getting places on time.”

It was my turn to sigh. There were just too many little things about this woman that were concerning me, and I hadn't even met her yet.

“You know I’ve got to work tonight, right? It’s Saturday.”

“I know,” Mya replied in a none too thrilled voice. She perked up to add, “Why don’t you call in sick. Or better yet, quit that place. It’s such a shithole. You can come to the club with me and Sarah.”

I sighed again. We’d had variations of this conversation more than once. “I can’t skip work because I need the money. Same reason I don’t quit. It’s pretty simple really.”

She got in a, “But,” but I just kept on talking, right over her, because I really wasn’t having this conversation again. “And it may be a shithole, but the tips are good – especially on the weekend. So I’m definitely not calling in sick tonight.”

Mya was quiet for a few seconds, before she said, “I just worry about you there. You’re so much better than that. I hate seeing you work there.”

‘There’ was a place called The Body Shop – a strip club – and not exactly what you’d call a ‘high end gentleman’s club’. I didn’t strip – not that they hadn't asked me . . . more than once. They’d offered some pretty reasonable cash too. 

I can’t say I was even tempted, though. I mean, I did respect the women who did it. Most of them were decent people. It was just a job for them, using what they had to get by in life. I could do it – it really wouldn’t bother me parading around naked in front of a bunch of drunken strangers – it just wasn’t something I was interested in. 

I was happy to serve the drinks and work the bar sometimes. Management liked me, I think, because I didn’t care if some drunk guy grabbed my ass or made some suggestive comment. I had no problem taking care of myself. And I didn’t mind showing a little leg or some tits – it’s what the customers liked, and I’d found the happier I kept them, the better my tips were. And that’s all I was there for – the money.

It was only a part time job. Usually I worked Fridays and Saturdays – by far the best nights for tips – and would pick up the odd shift during the week. 

I also worked Monday to Friday at an optometrists, where I was the receptionist and general office person. I handled the billings, did some of the accounting, placed customer orders for glasses or contacts and generally kept the place organized. 

It was an okay job and Holly, the optometrist who owned the shop, was incredibly easy to work for. It wasn’t exactly high paying, though. That’s why there was a part time job.

I’d pick up shifts occasionally at other bars too – even Dusty’s some times. I wasn’t exactly getting rich, but I had a plan. I was taking on-line business courses – which cost money – and I hoped to be working as an accountant in a few years. 

Mya and everyone else couldn’t picture me as an accountant, but I’d discovered that I really had an aptitude for it. I was good with numbers and analysis and I found a lot of it challenging. I just had to get through the classes, which meant I needed money which meant working in my Daisy Dukes and with my tits hanging out to keep those peeler-bar customers happy. I’d explained this to Mya – more than once.

It was kind of sweet that she didn’t like it. In a perfect world there’s no doubt I wouldn’t work there – but for now I needed the cash and the tips there were better than at a restaurant or a regular bar. It simply provided the best return for my time. So until I was done classes and had a decent job, it looked like it was going to be a part of my life. Everyone just needed to deal with it . . . Mya included.

“Hey, I should run. I want to get some studying done and there’s an assignment I need to work on, but I’ll see you . . . at two thirty.”

When Mya didn’t reply I added, “You and I can catch up. And then whenever this Sarah decides to join us . . . .”

I guess maybe my voice had gotten a bit of an edge to it again, because Mya interrupted. “Mikayla, be nice..” It was her stern, reproachful voice.

Fair enough. I was being a bit of a bitch, maybe. I knew I should go into this with a positive attitude. Maybe Sarah would turn out to be an absolutely fantastic person. Maybe Mya meeting her was the best thing that ever happened in her life and this was the start of a long and wonderful relationship. Maybe it was one of those fairy tale love stories. 

My problem was, I really didn’t believe in fairy tales.


	4. Chapter 4

“So that was Mikayla,” Sarah said as she watched the tall brunette make her way through the bar towards the door.

Mya watched Sarah as she watched Mikayla. 

Sarah got a crooked little grin on her face. “Love those shorts of hers.”

Mya thought she was joking . . . sort of.

Mya had already explained that Mikayla was on her way to work. She’d told Sarah she worked at a bar, but she wasn’t more specific than that. If Sarah asked, she’d have no problems telling her exactly where Mikayla worked. She liked to be honest. But otherwise, she would keep the details to herself.

“So what did you think?” Mya finally asked. Her curiosity was genuine.

Sarah’s eyes stayed on Mikayla for a couple more seconds, until she disappeared from sight. When she finally turned to Mya she was grinning.

“Mmm, she’s pretty yummy,” Sarah said.

Mya let out a little laugh. One of the things she found so refreshing about Sarah was how totally honest she was. She seemed completely open to telling you what she thought about everything. Well, almost everything.

“If you ever dump me, promise me you’ll give me her number,” Sarah continued. She was still grinning and those amazing blue eyes of hers were full of mischief. 

Mya laughed again.

“So tell me, honestly, is there something going on between the two of you?” Sarah looked at Mya and raised an eyebrow. It was almost a, ‘Come on, spill it. You can tell me,’ look. 

“Because I’d totally understand if there was . . . but I’d just want to know.” She sounded almost serious when she said that bit.

Mya was grinning and just shook her head.

She knew Sarah enjoyed being a bit outrageous, just for the fun of seeing how other people reacted. Mya had no problem with that.

But Mya also knew Sarah could be a little insecure at times – as strange as that seemed given the way she was other times. Mya wasn’t totally sure if her question about Mikayla was just part of her joke, or if she had an actual concern. It didn’t matter either way. Mya was just curious. She really wanted to understand Sarah better.

“Like I told you, Mikayla and I went out, but that was ancient history. It was, like, ten years ago. For a while after we didn’t even talk. Mikayla doesn’t do break-ups very good. But we reconnected after a bit, and we decided we were better as friends anyway.”

Mya smiled to herself. “And now, Mikayla’s my best friend.” There was no hiding the joy in her voice that went with that statement.

Sarah seemed to watch her closely. Mya gave her a smile and in turn she gave Mya that big, beautiful smile of hers.

“It’s kind of sweet how protective she is of you.” Sarah apparently was moving on. 

Since she changed the subject, Mya was hoping Sarah was fine with the relationship between her and Mikayla.

Sarah grinned. “When I first got here, it was like I was being questioned by the police again. I expected her to throw me up against the wall, pat me down and go through my purse to make sure I wasn’t carrying.”

Mya gave a big nod. “Oh, yeah, she’s plenty protective. Don’t worry, it’s not just you, it’s anybody I go out with, if she doesn’t know them.” Mya let out a little laugh. “She’s like the over-protective dad I never had.” There was maybe a hint of anger buried in the statement.

“Doesn’t that kind of bug you?” Now Sarah was sounding serious again. “I mean, you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions. It’s not like she has a say in who you date, right?”

Mya was wondering if she was picking up a hint of that insecurity again. Was Sarah afraid that if Mikayla had a problem with her, then that could affect things?

Mya reached out and took Sarah’s hand. “Don’t worry about Mikayla,” she said. “Her heart’s in the right place, even if sometimes she comes across like she thinks she’s the Gestapo or something. You’re right, though, she really does think she’s looking out for me.”

Mya paused and stared directly into Sarah’s eyes, just so she could see how much she meant what she was saying. “But Mikayla doesn’t decide who I go out with, or who I sleep with, or who I care for. She doesn’t get a vote on things like that. I get to pick. Just me.” She gave Sarah’s hand a squeeze. “And in case you’ve forgotten . . . I picked you . . . because I really do care about you.”

Sarah was smiling now. That big, thousand watt smile that lit up her whole face.

She dropped her eyes for a second, almost shyly, and quietly said, “I’m really glad you did.” Now she gave Mya’s hand a squeeze.

After a second her smile morphed into a crooked grin. “But actually, I’m pretty sure it was me that picked you.”

Mya laughed. “Okay then, you picked me . . . and now I feel like I’m so lucky that you did.”

They just stared at each other, smiling, for a few long seconds.

“God, I so want to kiss you,” Mya whispered.

Sarah instantly looked nervous. She dropped her eyes and shifted in her chair, but she never let go of Mya’s hand.

Mya was comfortable with who she was. She’d understood and accepted it long ago. She’d also long ago decided that she didn’t care who knew or what they thought about it. She liked women . . . she was a lesbian. If other people couldn’t handle that, well, as far as she was concerned, that was their problem and not hers.

She was only too aware that not everybody was like her, though. She knew Sarah wasn’t. This was just too new to her. She was still adjusting. It was something that they were sitting here, out in the open on the patio, holding hands. That was a start. And she’d take it.

“I’ll wait, though,” Mya said softly. “But I’ll be thinking about doing it.”

Sarah’s shy smile grew. She eyed Mya for a second, and then said, “I think I need to go to the bathroom.” A mischievous smile spread across her face. “Why don’t you join me?”


	5. Chapter 5

“So, what did you think?” Mya asked as soon as I approached her.

“What are you doing here?”

She grinned. “I was feeling thirsty. Besides, this is your slow time, and you know how much I love watching women take their clothes off.”

I couldn’t help laughing. On occasion Mya had shown up at the bar. Usually it was because she wanted to talk about something, almost always to do with her love life. I didn’t think she really cared what I thought – well, not unless I agreed with her – but she seemed to like to talk through what was on her mind. I guess saying it out loud and tossing it around helped her make decisions.

I wasn’t in a mood for that game, though.

“What do you care what I think? It’s not like you ever listen to me.”

She looked deeply offended. “How can you say that?” she demanded, clearly outraged.

I just shrugged. “Easy. When I told you that Gemma chic was a total slut you ignored me until you caught her with some other skank. And I told you not to trust Toni, but you lent her your car and she got all pissed up and crashed it. How much did that cost you to fix? And let’s not even get into that Romanian woman.”

“Mmm, Natasha,” she purred. “Now she was a wild ride.”

I shook my head in disgust. “She made you miserable.”

Mya gave me a twisted little grin. “Not all the time, she didn’t.” She raised an eyebrow and let her grin grow.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. Mya could be frustrating. Or maybe it was me. Maybe it was that things I thought were important weren’t necessarily that important to Mya.

Actually, I knew that was true. I just didn’t understand it. It was like she was wired wrong, as far as I was concerned. I really, truly didn’t get her sometimes.

And yet I was the one who was permanently wound up and pissed off and Mya was all smiles and sunshine and loving life. Maybe it really was me.

“So? Come on. Tell me.” Mya could be relentless.

“Let me at least get you a drink first. Then we can talk.”

I headed to the bar. I didn’t need to ask for her order. Gin and tonic, in a tall glass, with extra tonic. I knew.

It was only about six, so it was definitely quiet. The bartender, Luis, had noticed Mya. It wasn’t like we got a lot of female customers, especially ones that weren’t on some guy’s arm.

“Hey, who’s the babe?” he asked as he handled me the three whole orders I had – including Mya’s. “Is she a friend of yours?”

He glanced around me and let his eyes run over Mya.

“She’s kinda hot,” he added, and I swear he was licking his lips like he wanted her just that badly.

I found myself shaking my head. He had a half naked woman dancing twenty feet away – and she was pretty decent looking I thought – and here he was checking out the fully clothed one sitting in the audience.

“Forget it, she’s not your type.” Like I should have had to say that. Mya was actually watching the dancer and loudly cheering her on . . . which the girl seemed to enjoy.

“Hey, I don’t know about that,” Luis replied. “She’s got tits and a pussy, so I think she is my type.” He laughed like this was some kind of witty comeback.

I shook my head again. I seemed to be doing that a lot. Maybe I was just surrounded by morons. That was a real possibility.

“Okay, well maybe you’re not her type then.” 

Luis looked at me. I couldn’t help myself.

“Because I’m pretty sure her type had tits and a pussy too.”

Typical. That just seemed to raise his interest level.

I grabbed my drinks and headed off to deliver them. I did Mya’s last, and then pulled up a seat at her table. I kept my eyes out for anyone looking like they needed a refill in my section, but I knew in the meantime it’d be fine if I talked with Mya.

I sighed. “So what did I think?”

Mya glanced quickly at me, smiled, but then turned her eyes back to the stage and let out a loud cheer.

“Enjoying the show?”

She turned her eyes to me and smiled again. “Yeah, she’s pretty good, don’t you think? Usually in these quiet times you guys put up the real B-list dancers.”

That seemed a little harsh . . . but it was totally true. The A-listers – as I guess Mya would call them – worked the peak times, and got paid for it. The slow times were for the older women or the newbies who were just learning. 

Occasionally you’d get auditions – women who were looking to dance but had no experience. If the manager thought they looked like they had potential – meaning they were decent looking – then he might let them show him what they had during one of these quiet times. 

That’s what this woman was doing, and I thought she was doing pretty good. She had a decent face and body, nice tits – which tended to be important – and she was a reasonable dancer. Plus, she didn’t seem at all nervous when her clothes came off. I was pretty sure he’d give her a shot, although I knew he’d try to lowball her on wages, because he was just that kind of asshole.

I turned my eyes back to Mya. I found myself smiling. “You just can’t ignore a pretty girl, can you?” I was teasing – kind of – because it was true.

The dancer was wrapping it up so Mya gave her one last cheer and clapped loudly. The dancer grinned at her and blew a kiss in Mya’s direction before gathering up her clothes and heading off stage to talk to the manager.

Mya finally turned to me.

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked. “What’s wrong with admiring something beautiful when you see it.” She had that serene little smile like she was the Dalia Lama and she knew all the answers to the world’s mysteries.

“Oh nothing. Well, except how many time have I seen you getting screamed at by your latest fling because she caught you ‘admiring something beautiful’ that wasn’t her.”

As I expected, my words had no impact. That all-knowing smile remained. Whenever she did this it was almost like she was taunting me . . . like she was silently saying, “Oh, poor child, don’t you understand that you’re the one who cannot see.” It was maddening.

I tried a more concrete example. “What would your new girl, Sarah, say if she saw you sitting here checking out that dancer?”

Mya’s smile broadened. “I’m sure Sarah would join me. I’m pretty sure she’d say she was pretty hot but she wasn’t really her type. She’s more into the short, dark and sexy.” As she said the last part she gestured with her hands to make it clear she was referring to herself.

I was feeling a bit exasperated.

Mya kept on going, though. “You know, when you left today, she was telling me how hot she thought you were.”

I just looked at Mya. I found that a little hard to believe – not the part where someone thought I was good looking. I’m not conceited, but I own a mirror, so I’m at least aware that I look decent. I couldn’t believe Mya and Sarah were talking about me, though – okay, I could believe they were talking about me, but not about how Sarah thought I looked.

Mya was carrying right on. “Actually, I think the word she used to describe you was ‘yummy’.”

I sat there with my mouth hanging open. I had no clue what to say to that. No wonder Mya was so into this woman. It sounded like she could be a clone of Mya. That so sounded like something she might say.

Mya was grinning now. “Come to think of it, I thought you looked pretty yummy the first time I saw you too.”

At least now we were moving to more familiar territory. 

“You had such beautiful eyes,” she added.

Now I was grinning. “Eyes? Really.” I thrust out my chest and gave my tits a little shake. “I don’t think you were looking at my eyes, girl. I think you were checking these out.”

Mya got that big, mischievous grin of hers. In an almost dreamy voice she said, “Oh yeah, I remember those. I had lots of fun with those.” She closed her eyes as if she was fondly remembering.

I had to laugh. “That was so long ago, I don’t think you have a clue what they look like anymore.” It was hard to say how many sets of tits she’d seen since then.

Mya leaned forward and stared straight into my eyes. “Do you want me to describe all those cute freckles you have, right down there.” As she finished her sentence, her eyes dropped so they were staring directly at my tits. They seemed to linger for a long time.

It didn’t bother me. We’d been there, done that, and it certainly wasn’t anything I regretted. Mya had been my first woman – sort of – and I fondly remember our time together. Now at least. It had to be one of my few relationships – ever – that I could look back on without serious regrets.

It did surprise me, though, that she could recall my freckles. I hoped she didn’t ask, because I was pretty sure I couldn’t remember those kinds of details about her.

“Enough of this, Mikayla. Tell me, really, what did you think of Sarah?” We were back to the big question. Mya was single-minded, when she wanted something.

I thought for a second. “I guess I’d have to say Sarah was pretty yummy too.”

I grinned. I guess I thought that comment might annoy Mya, but instead she grinned right back at me and said, “Oh yeah. She’s very yummy.”

I close my eyes for a second. What did I really think of her?

“I don’t know. She was hard to get a handle on.”

I looked at Mya. She was listening – which was better than she was sometimes when I offered my opinions. She didn’t say anything, though, so I continued.

“A lot of the time she seems to say whatever come into her head. No filters.” I glanced at Mya. “It kind of reminds me of someone.”

She just grinned. I wasn’t subtle enough, I guess. She knew I was talking about her.

“Other times, though, it’s like a wall went up and I couldn’t see what she was thinking. It’s weird. It’s like she’s two people, sharing the same body.”

“I know,” Mya said immediately. “Every time I think I have her all figured out, she says something or does something that I totally didn’t expect.”

“Is that bad?”

Mya shrugged. “Hey, I don’t like people to be totally predictable.”

“And she’s unpredictable? In a bad way? Random?”

My radar was going off again. Were there more red flags with this woman?

Mya had a sip of her drink and didn’t respond.

I decided to change it up, because there was something I needed to ask and I didn’t want Mya to suddenly decide she had to leave before I got a chance.

“So who were the two guys sitting in the SUV, across from the patio that were watching you and your girlfriend?”

I expected a question like that to smack Mya hard across the face and leave her a little stunned. If I thought she’d be surprised, well I guess I was the one who was in for a shock.

Mya just gave a little shrug, like it was no big deal.

“What the fuck, Mya. Do you know what I’m talking about? Two big guys in a big black SUV. Why the hell do they always use black SUV’s. It’s like a stereotype.”

“What did the guys look like?” she asked, almost casually, like she was asking what kind of toothpaste I used.

“They looked big. Like football players. The one driving had short dark hair, and the other had maybe reddish brown hair and a beard or some facial hair. They were watching you and Sarah and taking pictures. They even took a picture of me when I left the bar.”

They got a wonderful shot of me too, glaring at them and giving them the finger. The guy behind the camera looked plenty pissed afterwards – maybe at my generally poor attitude or maybe because they’d obviously been spotted.

Mya just sighed and shook her head. “They’re nothing to be worried about.”

I was staring at her, probably a little wide-eyed. “What the fuck do you mean they’re nothing to worry about?”

Who the hell were these guys and why were they stalking Mya and Sarah.

She sighed again. The universal indicator that Mya wasn’t interested in this conversation. I saw it a little differently.

I grabbed onto her arm – not all that gently – and glared at her. “Who are they Mya. Why are they watching you.”

Another big sigh . . . and then she finally raised her eyes. “They aren’t watching me. They’re watching Sarah.”

I’m pretty sure she could see from the look on my face that that answer didn’t really satisfy me.

Sigh. Eye roll. I was expecting her to try and pull her arm free, so I tightened my grip. “What’s up, Mya.”

Sigh. Finally she met my eyes. “They’re bodyguards, okay? They’re Sarah’s bodyguards. Her father pays them to keep an eye on her sometimes.”

I kept my voice as calm as I could, in spite of all the sirens and flares and red flags that were now going off in my head. “Why does Sarah need bodyguards?” It seemed like a simple, reasonable question.

Mya stared at me. There was a bit of fire in her eyes. I could tell she was kind of pissed at me, but I really didn’t care.

“Why?”

“Because Sarah is Sarah Lloyd, as in Lloyd Pharmaceuticals . . . .”

Okay, I was a little shocked. “Lloyd Industries, those guys? Benson and Emily Lloyd . . . .”

“Those are her parents,” she interjected. “He’s who hires the bodyguards. He tells her he worries about her safety, but she’s pretty sure he just wants to keep an eye on her . . . know what she’s doing and who she’s doing . . . all the time.”

“And how are they taking their daughter doing you?”

It was a valid question. There were a lot of people who weren't terribly open minded. And those types of people, with the kind of money and power the Lloyd’s had . . . that would give me serious cause to worry.

Mya gave a little shrug. She didn’t look terribly happy. “Apparently they’re not all that thrilled their daughter has taken up with a ‘skanky dyke’ like me. I guess those were her father’s words. I don’t think I’m getting an invite to the mansion for Thanksgiving.”

I closed my eyes and wondered when this was going to go horribly wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

I jumped down off the bus and started marching towards Mya’s apartment. I might have been muttering. At least in my mind I was saying all kinds of words that probably I should have hoped I wasn’t saying out loud.

Primary among them was, “This fucking girlfriend . . . she’s a bad fucking influence.”

It had been just over a month – which I think was probably a silver or maybe a golden anniversary for Mya and her relationships. I’d rarely seen her stay with any woman this long, and I didn’t see any of the usual signs that she was getting ready to bail.

I was baffled, that was for sure. 

I’d hung around with the two of them a bit and I kind of liked Sarah. She wasn’t as flakey or skanky or – let’s be honest – as brain dead as a few of the women Mya had dated. She could be a lot of fun. She was definitely a little wild and I suppose adventurous, but then at other times I thought she was the kind of needy that I was surprised to see Mya put up with.

And she was flirty – certainly with me. It didn’t even seem to matter if Mya was right there. 

Mya just laughed it off. She thought Sarah was just messing around. But I got the distinct impression that it wasn’t all for show. I got the impression she would be very pleased if I decided to reciprocate. That just wasn’t going to happen, though.

Whatever. That was annoying but it didn’t really matter to me because it was something I could manage . . . so I knew it wouldn’t be a problem. What I couldn’t seem to manage was the way Mya was acting.

One of the things I’d always appreciated about Mya was how considerate she was. She always had time for her friends, no matter how deeply she was into her latest girlfriend. And when she said she’d meet up with you at ten, then she was there at fucking ten.

But in the last month I’d barely seen her. Whenever I found some free time – because my schedule was way more packed than hers with me working multiple jobs plus my class plus studying and assignments – well my timing never seemed to work for Mya. And it was always the same story . . . she had something on with Sarah. I was getting a little tired of even trying.

Was I sounding a little jealous? Maybe. Really, though, I just missed my friend.

Or possibly the truth was that I was a loner and Mya was the only friend I had that I generally hung out with. She was definitely my oldest friend, and my closest friend. So yeah, I missed my time with her.

But her standing me up this morning really pissed me off. Ten o’clock on a Saturday morning was not a great time for me. I got done work on Friday night a bit after two in the morning, and by the time I was home and in bed, it was closer to three. After a long week of work and studying, I appreciated my sleep in on Saturday and Sunday. So for me, it was a sacrifice to be up and out early Saturday morning. 

I thought it was a testament to how much I valued my friendship with Mya that I was willing to meet her at that time. More likely I was just desperate for my fix – since I’d been missing it lately – and that’s why I agreed to coffee. And a scone, probably – at least for me.

But Mya never showed. When we’d talked she’d told me Sarah was off somewhere until noon so it would be no problem. Her comments didn’t exactly thrill me, knowing I was only getting squeezed in because the girlfriend wasn’t available. I was willing to take it, though.

But Mya never showed. I tried calling her – like a dozen times – but she didn’t answer. That was crazy because Mya was never far from her phone. It was like an appendage for her. But she didn’t answer.

I was convinced it was Sarah. I was convinced she’d come back early from wherever she was and Mya had dropped everything to be with her. I was convinced they were in bed, screwing, and that’s why she was ignoring her phone. And I was convinced it was time someone had a talk with her about how she was behaving.

Kind of an intervention. And if she expected it to be calm and rational, well, she clearly didn’t know who she as dealing with.

I rounded the corner and made it half way down the block to her apartment building before I even realized that there were a number of cop cars parked out front, with their lights flashing. I couldn’t believe I hadn't seen them the second I turned the corner, but I’d been so deep in my angry place I was just oblivious.

I slowed my pace as I approached the building. There was a cop at the foot of the stairs leading to the front door and his eyes turned to me when I was about ten feet away. He did the once over thing and I could almost read his mind – ‘nice legs, decent ass, I bet she’s got some great tits under that jacket, yeah I’d do her’. 

It wasn’t that I had an overly high opinion of myself, I just had a low opinion of most men.

“What’s going on?” I asked him as I approached.

“This is an active crime scene. Can I get you to move along,” he responded in that ‘I’m in charge here so just do what I say, honey’ voice.

I nodded up towards the building. “I’m here to visit a friend,” I told him. Maybe my tone wasn’t exactly deferential. Too fucking bad.

He turned to me and his eyes hardened. “Well you ain’t going in there, sweetheart. It’s a crime scene.”

I gave him my own hard-ass look. Mya always said I had an issue with authority. I’d told her I didn’t see it, but it was always possible she was right.

“So what, the whole building’s a crime scene? Something happened on every single floor, in every single apartment? Is that what you’re saying?” I gave him the raise eyebrows, like I was suggesting that was just stupid and only a moron would believe that.

Now he turned his body, took half a step toward me and straightened himself up, I assume to make himself seem bigger and more threatening. His face had clouded over and there was a bit of a snarl on his lips. 

“Ma’am.” He spat that out like it was a four letter word. “This whole fucking place is a crime scene until the guys inside tell me otherwise. I don’t care if you’ve got a fucking friend in there. Give them a call, ‘cause you ain’t getting in any time soon.” 

He took a quick glance around to make sure there was no one nearby – no witnesses – before adding, “Now get the fuck out of my face before I have you run in for interfering with a fucking investigation.”

“Really fucking nice,” I thought. I was seriously tempted to go another round with this asshole, but I had another idea.

I gave a little gasp like I was mortified by his language. I turned and marched off while I loudly muttered, “Well I’ve never heard anything like that. And from a police officer. Someone should really report him.” My voice just oozed outrage . . . but ten feet away I was grinning. Who was I kidding. I used language like that al the time.

I could feel his eyes on me as I went. Was he making sure I was gone and didn’t cause any more trouble, or was he just admiring my ass? I’m guessing a bit of both. I didn’t care.

When I got to the corner I glanced back. He’d just turned away from me because some other lucky people had walked up and were about to be subjected to his particular form of ‘charm’.

I hustled down the side street and then turned into the alley. I slowed my pace, trying to act like I was just out for a morning stroll and not paying any particular attention to Mya’s building. I checked it out as I approached, out of the corner of my eye. Just as I’d hoped. No cops at the back in the parking lot or by the side exit. 

I hurried across the parking lot to the side door. It wasn’t keyed for entry – it was really an emergency exit – so I guess the cops assumed it wasn’t an access they needed to monitor. The door locked when it closed, but everyone in the building knew the lock was faulty. Mya always went in that way if she had just parked. If you gave the door a little tug it held, but if you gave it a good hard pull, it would open.

Of course my challenge was yanking it open without attracting any attention. I knew if I got caught I could just act all innocent and say I didn’t know the building was locked down. Maybe bat my lashes and offer a nice vacant smile. That would probably work. I could actually play the wide-eyed innocent pretty well if I had to. So I’d be fine – provided they didn’t drag me back out through the front door to where my favorite public servant was holding court. That might not go so good.

Whatever, I decided. I had an intervention I needed to attend to, and I didn’t want to waste my piss poor mood standing around thinking rationally. I grabbed the door handle, took a breath, and then yanked it.

The door swung open, but it wasn’t exactly quiet. I stood there, looking into the building. Luckily there wasn’t a cop stationed right there. Since the door entered into a back stairwell that was blocked off from the hallways by closed fire doors, I knew most of the noise would be muffled. I just hoped nobody was lurking nearby.

I decided to count to ten and see if I heard anybody coming. I got to five and thought, “Ah, fuck it.” I entered the building and started up the stairs. I tried glancing upward to see if there was someone in the stairwell, but I couldn’t see anyone. Besides, I figured if someone was, they would have come down when they heard the door open.

I exited on the third floor – Mya’s floor – and headed down toward her apartment. As I got closer, I found my mind turning back to the issue at hand – Mya, her obsessive behavior with this girlfriend of hers and the fact I was here at her place instead of sipping coffee and eating a raspberry white chocolate scone like I had planned. It didn’t take too much to get my anger flaring again.

The hallway in the building was ‘L’ shaped, with the stairs at the end of the short leg and Mya’s place along the longer leg. When I rounded the corner I totally froze and let out a gasp. Half way down the hall . . . on the right . . . where Mya’s apartment was . . . the door was open and a cop was standing outside.

It had never even occurred to me that the cops being outside could possibly have anything to do with Mya. She didn’t exactly live in the best neighborhood, but she’d never had any problems.

I’d just assumed there’d been a domestic dispute gone bad, or the cops had decided to do a drug raid and found more than they expected, or something like that. I mean, you typically couldn’t walk down the halls of the building without hearing a couple screaming at each other, and usually the pot smell was so strong you got a little buzz just making your way up to Mya’s place.

The cop by Mya’s door was initially facing away from me, but he must have heard something because he suddenly turned. He looked a little shocked to see someone standing there. He was even more shocked when I started running towards him – towards Mya’s apartment.

I don’t know what I was thinking, I just knew I had to get in there, I had to see Mya, help her, do whatever I could. I guess I had to see that she was okay. I desperately needed to know that.

The cop looked like he’d been around a while, and he looked like he’d had more donuts in his time than was healthy. He was a little short and stocky and kind of thick around the middle. He held up his hands and started to say something, but I was already on him. He was certainly bigger than me, but he was a whole lot slower too.

I faked left and he totally went for it. I easily sidestepped him on the right and was through the door with him left behind me, trying to grab my jacket while he swore at me. 

When I burst into the room half a dozen sets of eyes quite suddenly turned to stare at me. I ignored them. I was desperately looking around, trying to find Mya, hoping and praying she was okay, but already getting that sinking feeling that things were not right.

The first thing I noticed was how trashed the place was. Mya was never too neat to start with, but her living room looked like she’d had an out of control rager there. The couch and chairs were slashed and stuffing was spilling out, a table were overturned and one of the legs was missing, a lamp lay twisted on the floor . . . and Mya’s collection of little porcelain pigs that I never understood but which she seemed to treasure were in pieces and strewn about. 

There was yelling from a number of people but it’s like it was a foreign language because I couldn’t seem to understand any of the words. A large, angry guy in a cheap suit who had been in the living room started moving towards me. It was like time stood still for a few second as my eyes played around the room, taking everything in, noticing how concerned everyone looked. 

I felt someone grab my arm. Apparently the cop at the door was old and slow, but he was seriously strong because he really clamped onto me. The cheap suit guy had a finger up in my face and was yelling something, but I was totally zoned out. All of my senses were suddenly and horribly zeroed in on the carpet, just outside of Mya’s bedroom door. More specifically, I was focused on a stain on the carpet . . . an ugly red/brown stain, like someone had spilled a glass of red wine, or tomato soup, or . . . .

My mind was grasping at alternative explanations, but I knew what the stain was, and I just knew who’s veins that blood used to flow through.

I heard someone screaming,” No,” It was a loud, unending shriek and I badly wanted them to just shut the fuck up. They wouldn’t. They kept screaming. I wanted to scream back at them . . . but then I realized I was the one screaming.

Just as quickly as time had stopped, it started up again, accelerating until it was moving at some kind of hyper speed. 

I felt a yank on my arm and I was flying through the air, free from the earth, soaring, weightless, until I hit the wall in the hallway, across from Mya’s door. 

The cop had me pressed there – using all that bulk he had – and was shoving my arm up my back, way beyond what was needed, because I was essentially limp, not resisting at all. 

He had his face right in mine. I could feel his hot breath as he screamed at me. I thought he really needed to brush his teeth. It was a random thought.

He was speaking that foreign language too, I guess, because I wasn’t getting any of the words.

I just stood there. My mind was floating, retreating, collapsing, folding in on itself, until all the noises and smells and sights became indistinct . . . like a blur on the fringe of my consciousness. 

There was only one thing filling my head. It was an image . . . red and ugly and smeared across Mya’s carpet where it had no right to be. And along with it there was a single horrifying thought – Mya’s dead!


	7. Chapter 7

The room was small and had a smell all it’s own. I really didn’t notice when I’d first been put there, but my brain was slowly coming back on line – which was good, except for now I was registering that particular odor.

The room had those buzzing florescent lights that could drive a person insane – probably their intent. It was painted some hideous industrial green color which was probably the result of the paint mixing machine down at Home Depot shorting out and randomly adding tints to an otherwise normal batch of paint. I was betting the city picked it up on the cheap. Your tax dollars at work.

“Mya would be mortified,” I thought and almost smiled . . . until reality reared it’s ugly head and smacked me right in the face.

“Mya’s dead,” a voice in my head screamed.

“You don’t know that,” I answered back, trying to be rational . . . trying to hold out hope.

She could be at the hospital right now, getting surgery or stiches or a band-aid or whatever. Maybe it wasn’t even her blood. I didn’t know she was dead. I didn’t know what happened. I had to hold onto that. Because the alternative . . . I really didn’t want to go there.

I had no idea how long I’d been in the room – I guess you’d call it an interrogation room – down at the police headquarters.

I only vaguely recalled my journey here. I remember the cop in the hall cuffed me, but then someone – one of the other cops – took them off. I think it was the woman . . . the African American woman . . . or it might have been bad suit guy. 

He seemed to want to ask me stuff. I remember him digging through my purse, I guess trying to figure out exactly who I was and why I might be there.

They took me down the stairs and out the front of the building. I remember the asshole at the door glaring at me. I think someone was reaming him out. I might have smiled at that because he got really pissed.

The ride in the back of the squad car was a blur. And then some young cop who seemed to actually give a shit led me to the room and got me some water and a bag of chips and came back and checked on me a couple of times. I didn’t have a clue what his name was, even though he probably told me.

I must have been a real joy, because I didn’t complain or ask for anything. I just needed to be alone. I needed time to process what I’d seen and what I thought it meant.

So in a way I was happy they were taking their time getting to me. Quiet time was exactly what I needed.


	8. Chapter 8

Bad suit guy’s name was Ripley. But I could call him Aaron. Aaron was sitting across from me while his partner – Olivia . . . the African American woman I remembered – was leaning against the wall off to the side, I assume so she could watch me while I answered their questions.

I had more or less gotten my shit together. I could tell I was getting there, because I’d started to get restless and pace around the room. I could sense a bit of attitude developing too. Definitely signs I was getting back to my ‘normal’ self.

Aaron thought he’d start out real easy, with my name, even though I knew he’d seen my driver’s license so he already knew it.

When he asked, “How do you know Mya Walker,” I just stared at him.

“Is she okay? What happened to her?” was my response. I could tell by the sour look on his face my questions were not appreciated.

“Why don’t you let me ask the questions first, and then maybe later I’ll have some answers for you.” He was trying to sound reasonable, but he was struggling to hide his annoyance – and that definitely annoyed me.

I leaned forward on the table, fixed my eyes on his and in a calm but firm voice said, “I need to know if Mya’s okay.” I bore into him with my eyes and kept my face hard, but inside my heart was beating madly.

Now he was starting to look pissed. “Look here, honey . . . .”

That’s as far as he got before I interrupted him. “Honey. Seriously, did you just call me honey?” I kind of lost it on him. I was already on edge, just barely keeping myself together and I had zero patience for this guy’s bullshit.

He, of course, kept right on talking. “. . . we’re trying to run an investigation so we’d appreciate a little cooperation . . . .”

The two of us were talking over each other, with both of us getting louder as we went.

Finally I just sat back, crossed my arms and said, “Fuck you. I’m not saying anything until you tell me what happened to Mya.”

“Well fuck you too,” he shouted right back at me. He abruptly stood, throwing his chair back against the wall as he did, and stormed out of the room.

His partner stood there for a moment, just watching me. Her face was an impenetrable mask – I had no clue if she thought I was the biggest bitch she’d ever met or if she’d enjoyed me telling her partner to fuck off. 

Finally she pushed herself away from the wall and calmly strolled out of the room, with no comment. 

She closed the door behind her. I knew it locked from the outside – I’d checked earlier – so I knew I was stuck there. It really didn’t matter. I had no intentions of leaving until I knew what I needed to know.

I pushed my chair back, put my feet up on the table, folded my hands in my lap and closed my eyes. On another day I might have actually been able to nod off, but today my head was filled with too many screaming voices for me to fully relax.

I’d guess it was about twenty minutes before the two cops came back in. 

Detective Ripley – I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be offered the privilege of calling him Aaron any more – grabbed his chair off the floor, straightened it up and then sat down again across from me. He seemed relatively calm, which I had to admit, kind of surprised me.

He eyed me for a few seconds before he started speaking. “Ms. Mann,” he started off in a calm, level voice, “I’m sure you can appreciate I have a job to do here, and the more information you can give me, the easier it’ll be . . . .”

That’s as far as he got before I rudely interrupted him. “What happened to Mya? How is she? Is she . . . ?” Dead? I couldn’t get the word out. I just started at Ripley, begging him with my eyes to just tell me. I had to know.

He sighed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a, ‘I really feel for you,’ sigh, it was more along the lines of, ‘you’re really trying my patience, bitch’.

“We can get to that when we’re done here,” he was saying. He was starting to get a little edge to his voice. Either he had a short fuse or I was being kind of exasperating. Or maybe a combination.

“Now can you tell me how you knew Ms. Walker?”

I sat back, crossed my arms and fixed my eyes on a point about six inches above his head.

He paused for a second and then seemed to suddenly realize I had no intentions of answering him. 

“Ms. Mann, you mentioned back at the apartment that you were a friend of Ms. Walker. Can you tell us how well you knew her?” 

He was actually doing a better job now of keeping his voice even, in spite of me.

I was doing my best to not react . . . to just stare off into space until they told me what I needed to know. But him mentioning the apartment brought a flashing image to my mind – a reddish stain on the carpet in Mya’s trashed apartment. A place where something had obviously happened. Something inexplicable. Something violent.

I’m sure I flinched, but I quickly regained my composure.

I realized Ripley had asked another question but I’d totally missed it. No big deal. I hadn't intended on answering it anyway.

Ripley sat back in his chair and was eyeing me. I think maybe he was taking a second to rein in his rising temper.

“Ms. Mann – Mikayla . . . .” It was the woman – Olivia . . . I couldn’t even remember her last name – speaking for the first time. She stayed propped up against the wall, but her eyes were very much fixed on me.

I guess the change up got my attention, because I turned to look at her. I held her eyes as she spoke.

“I think we all want the same thing here. Really. We’re just looking for some information. Just a bit of cooperation.” 

She was being reasonable. She was almost pleading with me to just do the right thing and help out. Unfortunately, at this particular moment, I was feeling anything but reasonable.

I kept my eyes firmly on hers as I said, “I need to know if Mya’s okay.”

“Is there a reason you’re refusing to cooperate? Huh?” Ripley hit me from the other side in a highly accusatory tone. I guess he was losing his battle with his temper.

“Is there something you don’t want us to know? Something about Mya? Something about you? Huh?”

I guess he’d decided it was time for ‘bad cop’.

I just gave my head a slow little shake, crossed my arms and fixed my eyes at that spot above his head. 

It was going to be a long day, I decided. But hey, I had nowhere to go. 

“No, wait, I’ve got work tonight. It’s Saturday night – a good night for tips. I had to . . . .” My stream of thoughts came to a crashing halt as this new reality slammed me again. Mya! What happened to Mya! How the fuck was I going to go to work if something had happened to Mya!

I closed my eyes and took a ragged breath, trying to calm myself, trying to keep the tears from starting.

I had to know. I just had to.

Ripely was still trying to batter me with questions or accusations or whatever, but I tuned him out as I resumed my pose, staring off into nothing.

“Mya.” 

I heard the word. It was the woman speaking again. I guess that’s why it got my attention. I turned to her.

She had those eyes on me again. They looked sad, almost apologetic. 

“Mya’s dead.” She said it in a tone that matched her eyes. Apologetic. Sad. 

“I’m so sorry. She was killed last night . . . or I guess more accurately, early this morning. We’re trying to figure out who was involved and why. That’s why we could really use your cooperation.”

I heard Ripley say, “Fuck, Liv . . . .” I guess he wasn’t pleased.

“What?” she responded. She wasn’t backing down. “Hey, if she was involved, she already knew. Otherwise, we need information. We need some cooperation.”

They argued back and forth while I processed this information – information I already knew . . . sort of. As much as I’d grasped at possibilities and alternatives . . . I knew. Somehow.

Maybe that made it easier to deal with – at least in the here and now. I knew later there’d be much more pain and tears and probably a complete and total breakdown – me sitting in the dark, curled up in a ball, crying uncontrollably for a very long time.

My God. Mya was gone.

My eye were closed and I was sitting very still. If Ripley and Olivia – what the hell was her last name – if they even noticed me – because they were still arguing back and forth – I’m sure they thought I’d gone catatonic. 

At least until I uttered the words. 

“Mya was my friend.” 

I said it softly, but my voice was reasonably steady. Apparently it was loud enough, though, because the two detectives stopped bickering.

I opened my eyes. I looked up at Olivia – Liv, that’s what he’d called her. I decided I liked that better. I looked at Liv and said, “Thank you . . . for telling me. I needed to know.”

She eyed me carefully, probably trying to decide if I’d lost it . . . or was on the verge of losing it. Apparently she came to some conclusion because she gave me just a slight nod. She still had those sad, apologetic eyes.

I turned to Detective Ripley – was he back to being Aaron? I wasn’t quite there yet.

I stared at him for a second before I repeated it. “Mya was my friend.”

He gave me a little nod too. I thought he looked maybe a little regretful, for me I guess. That was unexpected. It didn’t matter. Now that I knew, I was ready to tell them anything they wanted to know. I was ready to help in any way I could. Because this was Mya.

“She was my oldest friend. I’d known her for, like, ten years. We were supposed to be getting together for coffee this morning, only she didn’t show up. She wasn’t answering her phone either, which was weird for her. That’s why I went to her place. To give her shit. To tell her off for standing me up.”

I felt a tear leak from my eye and slowly run down my face. I made no effort to wipe it away. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last one.


	9. Chapter 9

Olivia – no, Liv – had offered to arrange a ride home. An Uber or a taxi. When I said, “No,” she even suggested she might be able to get a squad car to take me.

I just shook my head, turned and walked slowly out the front door of the station. I felt so drained. I wanted to get home and sleep. Sleep for a week. And maybe when I woke up, this nightmare would be over and I’d find Mya waiting for me at the coffee shop. Only I knew that wouldn’t happen.

Probably I should have taken the offer of a ride, or at least grabbed a cab. I didn’t though. I wandered over to a nearby bus stop and tried to decide what bus I needed to take to get me within walking distance of my apartment.

As I stood there, waiting, I looked down at the card in my hand. Liv had given it to me, in case I thought of anything else that might help. She’d said to call . . . any time. I felt like she meant it.

Her name was on it – of course. Olivia Pope. Now I finally knew.

I decided I liked her. Actually, Ripley wasn’t that bad either. A little high strung and emotional, but men were just like that, right?

Our discussion had gone on for more than an hour. I gave them lots of background, but I don’t know exactly how helpful I was. They’d asked about enemies, or recent threats. I’d just laughed.

They asked about her work. When I said she was a painter, Ripley had gotten this funny little smile. “Like an artist?” he asked. There was some kind of undertone in his voice. Like, “Those creative types are all flakey, and probably on drugs. Figures.”

When I said, “No. She was a painter, like a house painter. She worked with a crew – two or three guys. They did renos, new homes, some commercial.” I glanced around at the God-awful paint job in that smelly little room. “Who knows, they might have even painted this place.” For sure they didn’t. Mya did a way better job than this.

I gave them the name of the guy who ran the crew, but I didn’t have a number for him. They claimed to be detectives. I was sure they could track him down.

They asked about spurned lovers, or stalkers or other people in her life. 

I paused. I knew it wasn’t relevant – at all – but I thought I should put it out there, so they knew right from the start. So I said, “Just so you know, Mya was a lesbian. She only dated women.”

That got less of a reaction than I expected, so I assumed they’d already heard somehow. Still Liv asked, “No men? Not ever?”

I shook my head. “Never.” I paused. “Maybe one or two, back when she was a fucked up teenager, but not since I’ve known her. Never.”

I detected just the slightest little smirk on Ripley’s face. I wasn’t sure if it was the typical guy thing – ‘lesbians . . . cool!’ or if it was like the ‘painter’ thing. Did he have some preconceived notion about people who lived ‘alternative lifestyles’?

I was getting ready to tear into him when he looked up and quite casually asked, “Current girlfriend? Anyone like that we should talk to? Or any old girlfriends who might be worth checking up on?”

I gave them Sarah. “Sarah Lloyd. And just FYI, she’s one of those Lloyds. He daddy is Ben Lloyd. Just so you know.”

I saw the look pass between the two of them. It was that, ‘Aw shit, we really didn’t need this’ kind of look. I had the feeling any discussions with Sarah was going to happen with a dozen high priced lawyers in the room who’d constantly advised her to not answer anything. I almost felt sorry for the cops.

“How about drugs? Anything there we need to know about?” That was Liv’s question.

I gave a little shrug. “Mya might have smoked a little pot now and then, but not even regularly, and not alone as far as I know. That was all she did. No party drugs, no hard stuff.”

I thought back to her apartment and the condition it was in. “If she had anything at home, it probably wouldn’t be more than a couple joints. And she didn’t deal or anything like that. So I really can’t see drugs being a thing.”

I thought for a second before adding, “Hey, I’m sure there’s lots of drugs in that building. If someone was looking to score or to rip off a stash, there’d be way more likely places to hit.”

The cops were both nodding. Apparently this had occurred to them – assuming they believed what I’d said. 

We touched on a few other topics. Family and other friends they might talk to. I told them her parent’s were dead and her brother, well who knew. As far as I was aware, she hadn't seen him in five or six years. “He was a junkie back then. Pretty bad. So I’d guess he’s either dead or maybe in jail. Not a part of her life though.”

As for friends, I just shrugged. “She had lots of friends. She was a people person. She loved people. When she wasn’t working, she was always out with someone or in the evening hanging out at Dusty’s. She was pretty much a regular there.”

“That’s the . . . bar over on McCormack,” Ripley confirmed. 

He’d almost stepped in it, but it seems he’d caught himself in time. Because I got the distinct impression he had an adjective – no doubt an offensive or derogatory one – he had intended to drop in front of the word ‘bar’. At least he was trying. 

It seemed odd, but I was apparently in a forgiving mood, so I just nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s it.” Very unlike me.

I noticed Liv nodded too. I guess she knew where Dusty’s was. Was that a cop thing or a personal life thing, I wondered. I took a closer look at her. Her face wasn’t familiar, but then I wasn’t a regular at the place like Mya was.

I stopped. I closed my eyes and took a slow breath. Not like ‘Mya was’. Like Mya used to be. Past tense. I felt another tear leak out of my eye.

Ripley had been busy scribbling notes throughout our discussion. He paused while he read through them, I guess seeing if anything else occurred to him.

He seemed to satisfy himself before he turned back to me again.

“Part of what we try to do is eliminate people, so it’s easier to focus in on possible suspects. So can you tell us where you were last night . . . we’re thinking between one and four in the morning.”

I looked at Ripley and then over at Liv. I’m sure my face conveyed that I wasn’t impressed.

“It’s just something we need to do,” Liv threw out. “We’ve got to be systematic. We’re just trying to document it so we can eliminate you and move on.”

My look at her wasn’t exactly warm. Finally I said, “I was working until two. I was probably out of there closer to two thirty. I took a cab home and was in bed by three. That was it.”

“And where do you work?” That was Ripley, scribbling notes again.

“The Body Shop.” I just left it at that. 

He raised his eyes, like I knew he would. He gave me that quick once over – it was almost involuntary. I’d seen it before. Guys just assumed – or maybe just preferred to assume – that if I worked at a strip club, I must be a stripper. 

Often I’d correct them, and often not with gentle words. Sometimes I just left it, though. I didn’t care what people thought. 

I figured the cops would check it out. I’m sure Ripley would volunteer to run down this particular alibi. Let the detective come to his own realization that his assumption was total bullshit. Really nice work, Sherlock.

But Liv ruined all my fun. “What do you do there?” she asked.

I was actually a little annoyed. But I wasn’t going to lie. So I turned and stared directly at Ripley when I said, “I serve drinks.” I gave him a snide little grin and said, “Sorry.” As in sorry to ruin that fantasy of yours, asshole.

You could see his little ‘aha’ moment. Then I could see the brief flash of disappointment, followed by something I thought was a degree of embarrassment – surprising for a cop. I’m sure he only felt that because I was staring at him . . . because I obviously knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

He tried to move it along. “Can anyone vouch for you after you got home.”

“Probably the cabbie who dropped me off. I have no idea what his name was – he seemed eastern European to me – but it was a Yellow Cab, and I assume they have records. But at my place, no. I went in and went to sleep and wasn’t up until nine to . . . .” 

My sentence just kind of trailed off. I got up early to go meet Mya. 

I think the two detectives where with it enough to understand why I’d gone quiet. They gave me a moment.

Finally Liv asked, “Were you and Mya . . . involved in any way?”

I looked at her. I took a second before I answered. “We were friends. That’s it.”

“You were never involved?” She was being persistent.

I took my time again. I think she thought I wasn’t going to answer. She looked like she was getting ready to ask something else when I finally spoke. 

“We were . . . involved . . . a long time ago. But now we’re just friends. That’s all.”

I think my tone made it clear that was the end of that discussion. Liv and I eyed each other for a few seconds. I think she was trying to decide if she believed me, and I was trying to make it clear that I seriously resented the question, that it was irrelevant bullshit and that I was done talking about it I didn’t really care if she’d wonder why. If she had any brains at all she’d realize it was just a little too raw right now.

That was pretty much it. They asked a couple more general questions, and wanted to know if they could get in touch with me if anything else came up.

They thanked me for my assistance and made a point of assuring me that I was in no way suspected of anything. “People always want to know that,” Ripley offered with a little smile.

Of course my rational, analytical side told me they hadn't exactly eliminated me because I had no alibi for a chunk of their window. Were they being honest, and basing a decision more on my reaction to the whole thing . . . or where they totally bullshitting me. Hey, for all I knew, I’d jumped to the front of the line on their suspect list.

Whatever. That was something I couldn’t control. I’d deal with it if I needed to.

The bus finally dropped me off a couple of blocks from my apartment. I trudged along, feeling like it had been days since I’d left the place. When I rounded the corner and my building was in sight I froze.

“Oh fuck, I can’t deal with this now,” I muttered softly. I just wanted to crawl into bed. I probably wouldn’t even bother to take my clothes off. 

I started my legs going again, moving me slowly forward, towards my apartment . . . and towards Sarah . . . sitting there on the front steps.


	10. Chapter 10

I set the glass down in front of her on my scarred coffee table and then returned to the large arm chair. I took a sip from my own glass and shuddered just a little. The bourbon fired up my taste buds and then burned its way down my throat all the way to my stomach where it seemed to radiate heat back out to my body.

I’d found the bottle in the cupboard. Some guy I’d dated had left it there before I’d gotten sick of him and kicked his ass out. I was only an occasional drinker, but at this moment, it seemed like a good idea.

I looked around. It felt good to be home, in my own space, where everything was safe and familiar. Of course it would have been better if Sarah wasn’t sitting there on my crappy old couch, rocking back and forth and staring off into space like she was in a trance or something.

When I’d seen her on my front step I immediately knew that she’d heard. I wasn’t sure how, but she obviously had.

For such a pretty woman, she’d really looked like shit. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was tangled and windblown, her complexion pale and her face slack like all the life had been sucked out of her. Even her clothes looked wrinkled and worn, as if she’d slept in them. She looked like a zombie version of the woman I knew.

She’d stood as I approached. She’d looked so frightened and unsure. For some reason I got the image of a scared, trembling little bunny.

She’d stared up at me. Her eyes were watery. They seemed to be pleading with me. 

Her mouth opened but she struggled to force out any words. Finally, in a frightened little girl voice she managed to choke out, “Mya?” It was a question. A pain-filled, mournful, heart-wrenching question.

Tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks as she stared at me, desperately wanting me to speak, but so afraid of the words I might say.

I understood the question, I understood what she wanted from me, but I didn’t want to give it to her. I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I just didn’t want to say the words out loud . . . to admit what I’d known since I’d seen that tubby cop standing outside of Mya’s apartment door. 

Mya was gone. 

Fuck! 

FUCK!

I could feel my own tears starting. I didn’t want to do that either but I couldn’t stop it.

A second later Sarah threw herself against me. She buried her head in my shoulder, wrapped her arms around me and began sobbing into my chest, “Oh, God, no. No, no, no . . . ,” she moaned.

It took me a second, but then I slipped my arms around her too and held her tightly while my tears rained down. 

Fuck!

On so many levels.

I didn’t want to invite her in. I needed time and space to process everything . . . and to grieve. I definitely didn’t want to be strong for somebody else. I didn’t even want to share my grief with someone. That wasn’t who I was. I knew I needed to deal with it, but I needed to do it alone.

Fuck!

But I couldn’t just leave her there in that condition. Not in these circumstance. Because Mya had cared about her . . . maybe she even loved her. I really couldn’t say for sure . . . and now I guess I’d never know.

I stared across the room at Sarah, still rocking back and forth. The tears had stopped. I think maybe they’d just run dry. 

“Have a drink.” I tried to be gentle. That kind of went against my nature. I was doing it for Mya, though.

Sarah finally stopped rocking and looked up at me with those puffy eyes. She reached out with a shaky hand – I guess she thought better of that and ended up using both hands – picked up the glass, and took a drink.

She started coughing immediately. I don’t know what she thought it might be, but I guess she hadn't expected bourbon. Of course she spilled some of her drink during the coughing fit – on her jeans, on the couch, on my floor. I’d deal with that later.

It did seem to wake her from her trance, though. She took another little sip, and then finally looked at me.

“Is it true?” she asked in a small, tortured voice. Her eyes were big and round and watery looking, her lips parted and trembling slightly, like she was disbelieving.

I took a second. I had trouble keeping my eyes on hers, but I did. For some reason I felt I had to. Finally I gave just a small nod. I still didn’t want to put it into words.

I expected her to break down, but she just slowly nodded back at me, and then squeezed her eyes shut. She took a couple of deep breaths, but otherwise seemed surprisingly calm. A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek.

I gave her a minute, but finally I had to ask. “How did you hear about it?” I wondered how long she’d been sitting there on my front steps.

She finally opened her eyes. She took another little sip of bourbon, closed her eyes again, and almost in a whisper said, “My father.”

She opened her eyes and looked at me. She must have seen my uncertainty, because she went on. 

“My father . . . he pays people for all kinds of information. I guess he pays some cop . . . probably more than one. He must have had Mya . . . .” 

The name stopped her. She paused and pressed her eyes closed while a little tremor shook her body. She took another quick sip from the glass and then a deep breath before she turned her eyes back to me. 

“He must have told them to watch for anything on her. He . . . he told me this morning.” Her eyes dropped and I thought she might start crying again.

I guess what she said made sense, though. Sarah’s dad seemed to keep a close eye on her. 

I had another sip. I relished the feeling of the bourbon burning its way down to my stomach. That seemed the only sensation my body was experiencing. The rest of me felt numb.

I took a few seconds before I asked, “Why did you come here?” It was something else I wondered about.

She looked up. A small, sad smile somehow managed to play across her lips. “You were her best friend.”

She said it as if it explained everything. I assumed she meant I was a connection to her . . . that Sarah just wanted to make some kind of connection . . . that she wasn’t ready to let go.

But she kept talking. 

“And she always told me, if I ever needed anything and I couldn’t find her, that I should come to you . . . that you’d help.” She seemed a little more fidgety when she said that She dropped her eyes again and took another quick drink.

I noticed that we were both struggling, both unwilling to use her name. That I understood. But there was something I didn’t understand.

“Why do you need my help?” I wasn’t sure if she meant she needed help, literally, or if she was looking for a shoulder to cry on and to help her through all of this. That connection thing again.

She didn’t respond, though. She kept her eyes down and sat there very still. Her only movement was to raise her glass and take another drink. She was quickly getting close to the bottom of the glass.

“Sarah.” There was a definite edge to my voice. I was too mentally beaten down to be nice to her. Yeah, she was dealing with a trauma, but so was I. And I’d know Mya . . . . 

I did almost a mental pause while a jolt of pain hammered me. I swear it was getting worse. Saying her name . . . even thinking her name . . . was killing me. I closed my eyes and took a healthy drink from my glass. I hoped the physical burning of the alcohol would distracted me from the mental pain I was feeling. I’m not sure it was completely successful.

I gave myself another moment and then turned back to Sarah again. Yeah, whatever she was feeling, I was sure mine was worse. We’d been way closer and for way longer.

“Sarah.” I was losing patience with her. “What the fuck is it.” There was nothing gentle about my tone. My patience was shot.

It got her attention. She actually jumped and looked up at me, wide eyed. She managed to slosh some more of her drink onto herself and my couch. I was beyond caring about that.

She sat there with her mouth open, staring at me, looking again like she wanted to speak but couldn’t get the words out.

“Just fucking say what you have to say,” I hissed. I wanted her out of here, quick. I wanted my space and I wanted my time so I could think . . . and deal with this.

Her eyes were wide and he lips moved, but again no sound. I was about ready to get up, grab her and toss her out the door. She could go home to her mansion and her mommy and daddy and suffer like a spoiled little rich girl. I was sure she’d put it all behind her in a day or two and move on with her privileged life.

I had a real Sarah-hating rant going in my head. So much so that I almost didn’t catch her words.

“I . . . I don’t remember,” she mumbled. 

I looked hard at her, trying to calm the tirade in my head, so I could hear.

“I don’t remember . . . last night. At Mya’s place. At her apartment.” She sounded forlorn, confused . . . and scared. 

It took me a moment. I was trying to process this information . . . to understand what she meant.

I got up from my chair and went over to the couch. Sarah was watching me carefully. She looked frightened.

When I sat down she actually flinched, like she thought I might do something to her. 

I was doing everything I could, though, to keep myself in control. I put my hands gently on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing me.

I took a calming breath before I spoke. “Sarah. You were at . . . Mya’s . . . last night?”

She hesitated, but then gave a frightened little nod.

“What time were you at Mya’s?”

Tears started running from her eyes and her lip began to quiver. She was doing that thing again where it looked like she was trying to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. But then they did.

In a ragged voice she sobbed, “I don’t know.”


	11. Chapter 11

The drink was going straight to my head. That wasn’t good, but it was no surprise. I realized I hadn't eaten all day. 

It also suddenly dawned on me that I was supposed to be at work and I’d never called. Fuck. 

I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed Tito’s number. He was the manager and he was an asshole, so I was sure this wouldn’t go well.

When he answered he could obviously see who was calling. “Well, look who it is?” Yeah, he sounded plenty pissed. “What happened, did you sleep in or get stoned or lose your watch or something? Where the fuck are you?”

Before I could even get a word in he carried on. “It’s fucking Saturday night and we’re full. But I’m short staffed thanks to you. So get your fucking ass in here, now, if you want to keep working here. Got it?”

“Shut the fuck up.” I’d had enough of his bullshit. I guess I sounded pissed enough to get his attention. 

“I’m not coming in. Get Layla and Sheri to actually work out there instead of pissing around with the customers and you’ll be fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. That’s my bad. I’ve got . . . a personal thing, though. So I won’t be in.”

He was quiet for a second, but then shifted immediately back into asshole mode. “Oh, sorry! You’ve got a personal thing. I don’t give a shit about your personal thing. Get your sexy little ass in here right fucking now or . . . .”

I’d had it with this tool. No, he wasn’t even a tool. Tools are actually useful for something. So I lost it on him. 

“Fuck you, Tito, you fucking dickless asshole. My best friend was killed . . . murdered . . . last night. I spent the whole fucking day in with the police trying to help them and now I’m fucking exhausted. And trust me, you don’t want me there anyway. I’d rip the head off the first fucking person who looked at me sideways . . ..”

To my utter shock I heard Tito say, “Oh shit, Mikayla, girl, I’m sorry. Shit I didn’t know. Oh fuck, I’m . . . I . . . I don’t know what to say. No, no, you stay home. You deal with this, girl. Really. I mean . . . oh, man. That’s fucking . . . that’s messed up. Hey, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry . . . .”

Bizarre. I was totally shocked. And I always claim I’m such a pro at reading people. Tito had a heart after all.

“Yeah, thanks, Tito,” I told him. “I’ve got to go.”

I hung up and fell back on the couch. I felt drained. The last thing I needed was an emotional scream-fest like that. It just emptied me of anything I had left.

I wanted to crawl in bed and just sleep. Sleep for a day, or two days, or a week.

But I couldn’t.

I’d put Sarah in my bed. 

I sighed.

By the time I’d gotten the whole story out of her, she’d been a mess. The extra glass of bourbon I’d poured had helped to get her talking, but it hadn't helped her condition.

I’d suggested she go home and sleep it off. That just made her a little psycho. Not a wonderful sight, considering what she’d just told me.

Apparently her and Mya – God, it made me ache every time I even thought her name – they had been at Dusty’s, drinking and dancing and having a normal Friday night. Sarah swore she wasn’t drinking that much – no more than Mya and I knew Mya was usually pretty good about just keeping a nice sane buzz. 

Of course that was the Mya I knew before she took up with Sarah. The last time I’d been out with the two of them, they’d both gotten pretty wasted.

Sarah also swore she wasn’t on anything else. I tried not to look skeptical, but I didn’t have the strength to put too much effort into it.

Anyway, at some point Sarah said she started to feel weird – she was tired – so they went back to Mya’s place. She had no idea what time that was, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t later than eleven. She had this court issued curfew at midnight, which she said Mya was pretty good about enforcing, so she thought if it was later Mya would have sent her straight home. 

That seemed a bit of a stretch too. I didn’t recall Mya being all that concerned about rules.

By the time they got to Mya’s, Sarah said she was out of it. She just wanted to sleep. She only vaguely remembered going up to the apartment, and then she was pretty sure she crashed on the couch. The next thing she remembered it was morning, she had a major headache, and she was in her bed at home. She had no idea how she got there or when she got there or anything.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it. I didn’t. I couldn’t have,” she wailed as she collapsed against me. 

I never said she did. She brought it up.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just held her while she cried. 

If I thought for a moment that she could have done this, I would have dragged her down to the cop station and introduced her to Aaron and Liv immediately. Honestly, I didn’t know . . . but I just couldn’t see it.

“You don’t know this bitch. You’ve got no idea what she’s capable of. You’ve said more than once you thought she was psycho . . . that there was definitely something wrong with her,” an angry voice from somewhere in my head screamed.

That was all true. Still, I just didn’t see it.

But it’s not like my brain was running on all cylinders at that point. It was shutting down. It couldn’t handle heavy thinking.

I decided I’d leave it to the cops to sort out. They’d talk to her for sure. I’d check. If she didn’t share her story, then I’d be sharing it with them. If that didn’t make her look good, well too fucking bad. Really not my problem.

I sat there and let my eyes close. I almost nodded off and then jolted back awake as the glass was slipping from my hand. Whatever. There’d already been plenty of spillage today. Would a little more matter?

Nonetheless, I made the almost herculean effort to lean forward and set the glass on the coffee table before I collapsed back. I was out almost instantly. 

I drifted in and out for I’m not sure how long. Weird, swirling dreams danced through my head – almost like the feverish ones you get when you’ve got a bad flu. They made sure I wasn’t getting any real rest and left me feeling more than a little disoriented.

At some point I could hear my name being called. For some reason I thought it was Mya calling to me. I thought if I just followed her voice, I’d find her and everything would be fine. Only I couldn’t find her . . . because everything in the dream kept shifting . . . and I kept seeing that red stain on the carpet, which told me everything wasn’t going to be fine. Ever.

I woke suddenly. I was hot and sweaty and my heart was racing. I was on high alert. Was there something wrong? Was there someone in my apartment? I froze and listened.

The room was dark. I’d never turned on the lights. That didn’t help me.

And then I heard it. That same voice, calling my name.

I was still pretty out of it, but I could tell the direction the voice was coming from. Towards my bedroom.

I turned my head and saw a figure in the doorway there, wrapped in a blanket and staring at me with haunted eyes. 

“Mikayla,” she called. It was a plaintive voice . . . almost like a small child calling for her mother after a bad dream.

I could make out her features in the dim light of the room. I saw a fragile smile touch her face when I rose off the couch and took a step towards her.

“Mikayla,” she called again. Now her voice was getting stronger and the smile seemed a little more certain.

“Come on, Mikayla. Come join me. Come keep me company.”

I’d started to move towards her, but now I froze. Her voice had completely lost that pitiful quality. Now it almost had . . . that flirty tone . . . that I’d heard from her often.

I gave my head a shake, certain I was still messed up from my dream . . . and that I’d imagined it. But she spoke again.

“Come keep me company. Please. Then I can sleep. Please? Please?”

She was giving me a big smile now . . . and she slowly started to open the blanket. 

I stared at her, horrified. I knew what to expect underneath it and I was revolted . . . only she was fully clothed.

Okay. Not what I was expecting – thank God. I breathed a major sigh of relief. 

“Come join me, Mikayla,” she persisted. “Come keep me company.” Now she sounded less flirty and more sulky, like a spoiled kid who wasn’t getting her way.

“I told you she was psycho,” that voice in my head called out. I wasn’t arguing.

“You’ve got to go.” My tone, I was certain, made it clear this was not negotiable.

Apparently Sarah was tone deaf. Or more likely, the spoiled little rich girl was just used to always getting what she wanted.

“No,” she replied, defiantly. There was more of that pouty little girl in her voice. “I don’t want to be alone. I want you to come and hold me. Then I can sleep.”

I was wondering if she was having some kind of a psychotic break. Was she losing touch with reality? Again, not my problem. Daddy could hire someone to care about that, but it wasn’t going to be me.

I glanced at a clock. “It’s almost eleven. You know you’ve got to be home by twelve. You know you’ve got that curfew thing, right?”

“I don’t care about the curfew,” she responded immediately. She sounded pouty, but she was sounding a little less insistent. 

“Who do I call? Someone can come get you, right? Or I can get you a cab if you want.”

When she didn’t respond I went to her purse and pulled out her phone. I walked over, grabbed her finger and stuck it on the phone to unlock it. I opened her contacts and held the phone up to her.

“Which one?” I demanded. I was in no mood for pissing around.

Her face was a scowl. She obviously wasn’t happy, but I really didn’t care. I glared at her and stuck the phone right in front of her eyes. 

She hesitated, and then flipped through the contact list and pointed at one that said, ‘Gino’.

I dialed. Ten minutes later I was loading her into the back of a big black SUV and thanking Gino. That was really quick, but I wasn’t complaining.

I knew Gino was one of the guy I’d seen outside of Angelo’s. It might have even been the same truck.

I watched as the tail lights disappeared around a corner and then trudged back to my apartment, wondering the whole time if that was the last time I was going to see psycho Sarah. Maybe I was closer to hoping, but I was doubting I’d be so lucky. Shit that lands in my life tends not to disappear quite so easily.

I was too tired right now to care, though. I closed my apartment door and made extra sure I locked it. In my current state, I knew, it would be an easy thing to forget. Next stop was my bed . . . for a week.


	12. Chapter 12

As I walked in I felt so self-conscious. That really wasn’t typical for me, but I knew my presence would stir things up. I barely got through the door and into the club when I got hit with my first big hug and gentle words. I was certain they wouldn’t be the last, but I could honestly have done without them.

You’d think somewhere like Dusty’s – a place I identified so readily with Mya – would be the last place I’d want to go. I knew being there and not seeing her would feel odd – even painful – but I’d decided earlier that I wanted to do it. Actually, I felt more like I needed to do it.

This was kind of like my Mya farewell tribute tour.

After I’d crashed on Saturday night, I didn’t move until the sun was well up the next day. I probably woke up before eight – my bedroom faces east, my curtains are shit and it was a beautiful sunny day – but I didn’t move out of bed until closer to ten. 

Miraculously, I managed to get a solid night’s sleep and was feeling somewhat human again. I still had a few tears and fits of rage over Mya, but I slowly started to make progress.

Taking a couple of hours to lie there, quietly, and just think was something I desperately needed. It made a huge difference.

It didn’t mean that when I got out of bed I wasn’t sad bordering on depressed, but it did mean I was starting to function again. As much as I wanted to just curl up and ignore the world, I was practical enough to know I couldn’t. I also knew that wasn’t what Mya would want me – or anyone else – to do.

I stayed at home the whole day, doing my best to keep my mind busy. I cleaned, which wasn’t my favorite way to occupy my time. It was cathartic, though. 

I scrubbed the bathroom until it was sparkling, washed all the dishes and wiped down every surface in the kitchen, dusted the whole apartment, vacuumed, and even folded all the laundry that had spent several days parked in a basket by the end of my bed.

I skipped breakfast, but made up some egg salad for lunch – something I happened to love, but rarely bothered with. I ate an apple afterwards and decided I should have fresh fruit more often too. 

I did some reading for my business class and worked on an assignment that was due this week. I maybe wasn’t the most productive I’d ever been, and it possibly wasn’t my absolute best work – I was till obviously distracted. But just having something to focus on besides Mya helped a lot.

I took some time and made myself a healthy stir fry with rice for supper. I considered opening a bottle of wine to go with it, but my will power held and I resisted. I knew if I opened it, I’d probably finish it before the night was over . . . and that I didn’t need, even if I wanted it.

I didn’t turn my phone off, but I didn’t answer it either. I got a dozen calls – all from friends who knew Mya – plus at least five that were from Sarah. I had no interest in talking to her.

Between all this activity, I did give in and go on line to see what the news had to say. Of course there was only one story I had an interest in.

The articles I saw were brief, without much in the way of details. It confirmed things I already knew – Mya had been killed in her apartment early Saturday morning. There was no picture, no comment on how she was killed or by who or whether there were even any suspects. All it said was that it was a homicide and that the police were investigating.

Even though the stories I saw were short, by the time I got to the end, my eyes were blurring with tears. Seeing it in writing was like some final confirmation that Mya was gone and wasn’t coming back.

After I ate my supper, I just lay on the couch, almost meditating, trying to let all the anger and despair drain out of me. Of course Sarah calling three more time in the space of about twenty minutes didn’t help, so I turned my phone off.

I went to bed shortly after nine – which was early for me. By then, though, I’d decided I was going into work in the morning. I hadn’t been sure all day, and I knew that my boss, Holly, would be fine given the circumstances. I’d decided, though, that I needed at least some portion of my life to go back to normal. That would help me keep my sanity.

Laying there in bed, waiting for sleep to come, was when I decided I wanted to go to Dusty’s. Mya and I had so many good times there that I was sure the place had to still hold some piece of her spirit.

I’m not some flakey, new age kind, and I can’t really explain it in any logical, rational way, but I just felt being at Dusty’s would make me feel close to Mya one last time.

I’d gone all out to honor her. I’d decided to wear a dress, which was something Mya was always harassing me to do.

I could hear her laughing and saying, “If I had legs like yours, I’d be wearing dresses every day.”

I’d told her I thought I looked just fine in a pair of tight jeans, but there was no changing Mya’s mind once she decided something.

She always said red suited me, so I’d put on a red floral dress – one she’d actually picked out for me We were shopping together when she’d spotted it. She essentially said I had to have it . . . and there was no arguing with Mya sometimes. I just bought it rather than even trying. And now wearing it made me feel a little closer to her too. 

I’d added my black ankle boots, grabbed my purse, and headed out.

Luckily for me, Monday night wasn’t that busy. Still, when I first arrived I had a steady stream of people wanting to pass on their condolences, or in too many cases, looking for gossip. I wasn’t offering any of that.

A few of the ladies had it in their heads that I probably needed some company to help me deal with my loss. With a couple of them, I had to be blunt. I told them I preferred to just be on my own so I could think . . . and reminisce.

Eve, the manager seemed to get it. She came over, gave me a hug and a few words, and then chased off another woman who was being annoying. 

Eve was maybe five foot two, but she was built solid and had an angry scowl – almost as a default expression – that could frighten a truck driver. If you think of a Hollywood stereotype for a hard-ass woman prison guard, you’ve pretty much got Eve. She really is tough – it was no act – but I knew she had a softer side too.

I’d gotten to know her a bit because I worked here sometimes. We’d always gotten along. I worked hard when I was here and didn’t spend half my time talking and flirting with the customers – like some of the girls – and Eve clearly appreciated that.

She brought me a drink when she came over – on the house. It was cranberry juice with a twist of lime, which was my drink.

“Is that okay?” she asked, almost nervously. “If you’re wanting anything stronger, I can get it . . . no problem. I’d totally understand if you thought you needed it.”

I had to smile, because it was a perfect drink for the mood I was in. I wasn’t interested in getting wasted. So I told her I was good and thanked her.

Eve made small talk for a few minutes, which I appreciated. Just having her there discouraged a lot of the other women from stopping to chat. That gave me a break from all the attention. I hoped that by the time she left, the ‘excitement’ would have died down and people would have moved on with their evenings.

“So are you interested in working any shifts?” Eve asked eventually. “We could always use someone good on Fridays and Saturdays . . . you know, when its busy.” 

She was aware of where I worked on those nights, but this wasn’t the first time she’d thrown out an offer.

I just smiled and took a sip of my drink. Yeah, it would be a lot nicer working at Dusty’s, but the tips wouldn’t even be close. “I could pick up a shift during the week . . . except Tuesdays. I’ve got an on-line class Tuesdays. Even Sundays would probably work. But I need the tips, so . . . .”

I didn’t have to explain it to her. She knew the business.

“I could have even used you tonight,” she grumbled. She shook her head. “Robyn,” was all she said.

I knew Robyn. I’d worked with her on more than one occasion and let’s just say she wasn’t my favorite person. She always did a shitty job and she had a shitty attitude – a charming combination.

“She missed her shift?” 

Eve nodded. “Yeah.”

“What was her excuse?” I was maybe more sympathetic than I might normally be . . . given how I’d blown off my shift on Saturday.

Eve just shrugged. “Nothing. I never heard from her. I left her a message Sunday because I wanted her to pick up an extra shift this week. She’s never gotten back to me.”

I found myself rolling my eyes. “Why don’t you just fire her ass?” I think my tone gave away my general opinion of Robyn. It was an obvious question, though.

Eve sighed. “Yeah. I’d love to. Only you know there’s only so many woman who’ll work here. It makes it tough.”

I understood what she meant. You didn’t have to be a lesbian to work here . . . but for a lot of women, it helped. You certainly couldn’t work here and be overly sensitive about it. Customers flirted – it was just a fact – and if you couldn’t handle other women coming on to you, well, this wasn’t the place for you.

Eve seemed to consider something for a second. “Robyn wasn’t close to Mya was she? You don’t think she’s upset about that, do you?”

I shook my head. Robyn really wasn’t Mya’s type of person, I was certain of that. But I can’t say I was shocked she’d just blown off a shift. She seemed that type to me.

I looked around. “Well, at least it’s a quiet night. You should be able to handle it.”

Eve let out a little laugh. “You say that like it’s a good thing.” Managers, of course, never liked a slow night.

We chatted a bit longer and then she drifted off to handle some paperwork in the back.

I enjoyed a quiet moment, just remembering times I’d had here with Mya. Unfortunately it was short lived.

Trish and Amy came in and immediately descended on me to offer condolences and reminisce. They’d actually been good friends with Mya so I didn’t mind talking with them quite as much. 

After a couple of minutes, though, I got a strange feeling, like someone was watching me. I glanced around, and at the end of the bar I saw an African American woman who’s eyes seemed to be on me, but drifted away when I spotted her. It took me a second. She looked very different, with her dark curls surrounding her face, a bit of make up and dressed in a sleeveless top and a short skirt.

She turned to me again and she held my eyes for a minute, before she gave me just a little smile and then quite casually turned away.

“Excuse me for a second,” I said to Trish and Amy. They were sharing a story about Mya, but it seemed it was more something they were doing for each other than for me.

I walked over and sat down on the stool beside the woman.

I didn’t look at her, I just sat there, staring straight ahead at the bar, sipping my drink. After a couple of seconds, when she didn’t say anything, I spoke. “Good evening . . . Detective Pope.”


	13. Chapter 13

The waitress dropped off a coffee for each of us and a slice of apple pie – with ice cream on top – for the detective.

“I’ve barely eaten since lunch,” she said – maybe a little defensively. She loaded a piece onto her fork and quickly devoured it.

“Mmm, that’s good,” she almost sighed. She glanced over at me. “You can have a bite if you want.”

I smiled and shook my head. “No, I’m good. Besides, I already had my dinner.”

That got a little smile from her, before she turned her attention back to her pie.

I sipped my coffee and watched her.

In a minute the pie was half gone. I guess that helped satisfy her immediate hunger because she set her fork down and had a sip of her coffee.

She looked at me and gave me another smile. “Thanks.”

She didn’t really have to clarify what the ‘thanks’ was for. We’d spent the last few hours at Dusty’s, doing our best to act casual while I introduced her to an assortment of people.

Unlike Mya, a lot of the regulars at Dusty’s weren't all that comfortable with strangers. Maybe too many of them had bad experiences during their lives, and so they just found it easier – or safer – with people they knew. 

Me being with her gave her credibility, I suppose. I even told people she was someone I’d met through Mya – which in a twisted way was true. That got people talking on the topic that I was sure Liv – I couldn’t really call her Detective Pope – was interested in hearing about.

Maybe she didn’t get a lot of information on suspects, but from all the stories people provided, I’m sure she got a sense of the type of person Mya was. 

Liv acted like she’d only known Mya a bit, so she innocently asked questions as though she was interested in hearing more about her. She was actually pretty good at steering the conversations without making it obvious.

As far as I was concerned, what she heard should have confirmed what I’d already told her. There were no crazy ex’s who’d been stalking or harassing her, she wasn’t into drugs – either using or selling – she didn’t have some wild, kinky sex life that might attract freaks, and she wasn’t some psycho bitch herself who might antagonize some stranger into killing her.

As we chatted with people, I decided a couple of time that Liv was asking too many questions – like she slipped back into cop mode. I didn’t want people wondering about her, because if they suspected anything, I was sure they’d shut down. I was also sure word would get around quickly, and then no one would be talking.

That might leave people a little pissed at me, I knew, given that I was the one introducing her. I’ll be honest, though . . . if people found out after the fact she was a cop, I wouldn’t be apologizing. I had no problem helping out any way I could to find the person who’d killed Mya. If someone had a problem with that, and wanted to hold it against me, well too fucking bad for them.

The first time Liv started getting carried away with the questions, I gently grabbed her hand, gave it a little squeeze and smiled at her. “Hey, I feel like dancing,” I told her, like the mood had just come over me. I pulled her out onto the floor . . . even though she was giving me a ‘what the fuck’ look.

She was annoyed, until I leaned in close to her ear and said, “Be cool. You can’t push people too hard. Unless you want them to know you’re a cop.”

It still took her a moment to get over herself. I’m sure she wasn’t used to people telling her how to do her job. But after a couple of songs she gave my arm a little squeeze, leaned in and said, “Thanks.”

A minute later she told me she was ready to go back and maybe talk to a few more people.

She started to turned to go, but I grabbed her hand and pulled her back. I smiled at her. “A couple more songs.” I’m not one to beg, but I think that was as close as I ever get.

I was enjoying dancing. I knew she had a job to do, but I had my own agenda and that involved relaxing and drinking in the vibe of the place. I was still channeling Mya’s spirit. She loved to dance, and more than once when I was here with her, we’d spent almost the whole night on the dance floor.

Liv seemed a little reluctant . . . but apparently she chose not to argue. She started swaying to the beat. She even managed to give me a little smile.

I had to admit, she was a good dancer. She was so smooth and graceful, and her body just seemed completely in sync with the music. I was quite impressed. I never would have thought it of a cop – I guess I’ve got my preconceived notions too. Honestly, I was enjoying just watching her.

I could tell, though, after she’d given me another five minutes, that she wanted to get back to work. I gave her an appreciative smile, took her hand, and led her over to the bar. I bought her a drink. Two cranberry and limes. I assumed she was working, so no alcohol.

We talked to some more people and danced a couple more sets, trying our best not to stand out or act too obvious.

It was a little after ten when she said, “I think I’ve got all I’m going to get here. Maybe I should go.”

“Yeah, I’m probably ready to head out too. I’ve got to work in the morning, plus I have class tomorrow night. It’ll be a long day.”

I could feel her watching me for a couple of seconds before she asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Before you head home.”

That’s how we ended up at the little café.

We’d grabbed a booth at the back with no one else around, so once the waitress had left, I felt I could ask her. About Mya. 

When I left the police station Saturday I was convinced I didn’t want to know anything from the cops until they arrested the fucker who did it.

Now, though, I found I had questions. I wasn’t too sure whether the detective would give me any answers, but I thought I might as well try.

“So, how are things going . . . with the investigation.”

The look Liv gave me was far from encouraging. It was her expressionless cop poker-face look. I did see her biting the corner of her lip, though, so I thought she was maybe at least considering my question.

“We’ve really just started,” she said cautiously. “We haven’t got a lot going yet.”

I wanted to shout, “Just started? It’s been almost seventy-two hours.” But maybe even cops get time off on the weekends.

So instead I just nodded my head and tried to keep my expression as blank as hers. No point pissing her off – there’d be plenty of time for that later if I decided it was necessary.

There was one thing I’d been wondering about. “So how did they get into Mya’s apartment. When I was there I didn’t think it looked like the door had been kicked in or anything.”

Again Liv hesitated. She took a sip of her coffee while she kept her eyes on me. I wondered at what point I’d start getting the, “I can’t comment, this is an on-going investigation” line or something like that.

Liv was really taking her time, but at least she didn’t immediately shut me down. I was hoping I’d earned something for helping her out at Dusty’s.

She set her coffee cup down and took a quick glance around like she wanted to be sure no one would overhear her.

She gave me a hard stare for several seconds before she spoke. “Anything I tell you, it’s just between you and me, okay? You can’t be sharing it around. Right?”

I gave her a little nod.

“Mikayla, I’m serious, okay. I could get in deep shit. If Ripley knew I’d told you anything he’d freak. So I’ve got to know you aren’t going to tell anyone and this won’t come back to bite me.”

Her eyes bored into me and her tone of voice was hard. There was no doubt she was deadly serious.

I met her eyes and tried to show her I was every bit as serious. “Anything you say is just for me. I’m not telling anybody. You can believe that.”

She stared at me for another minute but I didn’t turn away or flinch. I was hoping that after tonight she was seeing me as a useful resource . . . maybe one she didn’t want to piss off. Who knows, though.

She picked up her coffee, took a sip, and then turned her eyes back to me. “We’re not sure how the perp got into Mya’s apartment. There’s no sign of forced entry. There’s no fire escape, and anyway, all the window were locked and barred. They were, at least when we got there.”

There was a bit of a question in her voice so I confirmed it. “Yeah, Mya was careful that way. She never left windows open at night. She was maybe a little paranoid about it. So yeah, I’d expect she’d have all the windows lock. Usually she had a chunk of wood she put in the tracks so they couldn’t slide, even if someone pried them and popped the lock. She got me some for my place too.”

Liv gave me a little smile and nodded. I guess I was filling in some gaps or answering some questions they had outstanding. It felt good that I could be helpful.

“So what, did someone pick the lock?” I always thought that was more a TV thing than something people did in real life. I had no idea.

“Our guys had a look at the lock. They say there’s usually signs if it’s been picked.” She shrugged, like she didn’t know, but she was trusting them. “These guys tell me they don’t see anything to make them think it’s been picked.”

She took another sip of coffee, but her eyes never left me. I had the feeling she had something else she wanted to ask me, but maybe was delaying. Was she trying to figure a way to put it so it wouldn’t piss me off? I might have tensed a bit.

She was biting her lip again – I decided her perfect poker-face had a tell.

Finally she asked. “Did Mya have spare keys to her place? Do you know if she ever shared one with someone . . . maybe a girlfriend that she never got it back from . . . . or . . . ?”

She kind of left the question hanging, but her eyes never left me.

I could tell what she was asking . . . and it pissed me off.

“Or did she ever give one to her best friend, so I could water her plants when she went on vacation . . . and never ask for it back?” I tried to keep my tone neutral, but I’m not sure I succeeded. 

So they still were working on ‘eliminating’ me . . . as in they still thought it possible that I’d done this. Fucking assholes.

We stared at each other for a couple of seconds before I spoke again. “Yeah, I’ve got a key to her apartment. It’s in the back of the drawer at home, with no markings on it or anything like that, so if anyone found it, they’d have no idea what it’s for. If you want I can check it’s still there when I get home. I’ll let you know.” I think my voice had gotten an arctic chill to it.

She gave me a little, “Thanks,” but I have no doubt she hadn't missed how pissed I was.

What the fuck . . . I figured I might as well just say it. “So yeah, I could have gotten into Mya’s apartment. Or I could have lent the key to someone else and they could have gotten in.”

I was definitely not keeping things neutral now. I made no attempt to hide the anger in my voice and I’m sure it was written all over my face too.

“But I wasn’t at Mya’s on Friday night. And I didn’t lend my key to anyone.” I pretty much spat out those words.

I grabbed my coffee and took a drink but my eyes never left Liv. And there was nothing friendly in them now.

She sat back, sighed, and held up her hands, almost in surrender. “Hey, nobody thinks you did this, okay. Like we said down at the station, though, we need to follow the process . . . follow the evidence . . . and eliminate as we go.”

She gave me a weak smile, I’m sure trying to bring me back off the ledge. 

I’ll admit, I was probably a little more touchy than usual. Consider the situation, though.

Maybe to reel me back in some more Liv asked, “So she gave you a key . . . because you were her best friend. Do you think she might have given anyone else a key. Another friend? A girlfriend.”

I thought. I just shrugged. “I’ve got no idea . . . no one that I know of, but that’s not the kind of thing she’d necessarily mention to me.”

I thought a little more. “Mya was kind of a serial dater. She never stayed with anyone too long, typically, so I just can’t see her . . . .”

I paused. I looked up at Liv. “Have you talked to Sarah yet?” 

Liv closed her eyes for a second and gave her head a little shake. She added a weary sigh before saying, “No, but we’ve arranged to talk with her tomorrow afternoon. With her lawyers, and her father it sounds like. That should be loads of fun.” Her tone made it clear she had no illusions about it.

I decided I’d give Sarah the chance to say what she knew – or what she didn’t know – before I talked. But I was definitely going to be following up.

I did want to give Liv a bit of context, though. “Mya and Sarah were together for over a month. I know that doesn’t seem like a long time, but for Mya it was. And Sarah seemed to be over at Mya’s a lot – apparently hanging out at the family mansion was a real hardship. So it’s possible Mya might have given her a key. But I really don’t know.”

Liv nodded. “We’ll make sure we ask.”

Both of us sat quietly for a minute, sipping our coffee. My little temper flare up was subsiding a bit. “She’s just doing her job,” I kept telling myself. “She’s trying to catch the bastard who did this.” It helped . . . well, a little.

I glanced up at Liv and managed a weak smile. “So you decided it was a better idea to send you to the club, to talk to people, instead of Ripley.” I arched an eyebrow.

Liv actually laughed. The visual was amusing I guess.

My smile got a little more life to it. “Come on, I’m sure he would have been a hit with all the ladies.”

Liv shook her head, no doubt trying to visualize it.

She turned her eyes back to me. She gave me a warm smile as she said, “I don’t think even I would have accomplished much if you hadn't been there.” She rested her hand on mine and gave it a little squeeze. “Again . . . thanks.”

It seemed like her hand lingered for a bit. I wasn’t sure . . . and I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about it.


	14. Chapter 14

I dropped off the drinks, took the cash and collected another, “Hey, Mikayla, how are you doing?” . . . with the usual solemn, concerned face and sombre tone.

I offered a weak smile. “Okay. Just trying to keep busy, you know.” I seem to have adapted that same sombre tone, more for them I think than for me.

That always got me another concerned look, a “You take care of yourself,” and maybe an encouraging hand on my arm. 

I made my excuses and got out of there, even though things weren’t really that busy. 

This whole tragedy with Mya was horrible, and as much as most people were honestly trying to be sympathetic and supportive, it was really starting to wear on me.

I was still grieving, but it was something I needed to do in private. Someone like Mya would have needed the group hugs and shared mourning. I just wasn’t like that.

So maybe it wasn’t the best idea to be doing a shift at Dusty’s. I’d hoped after my visit on Monday that everybody had given their condolences and I could move on. Apparently not quite.

On Monday Eve had mentioned she might need me to cover a shift. She’d texted me just after lunch on Tuesday. 

“Still no sign of Robyn. Could use you if you’re available tomorrow. Tonight too, but you said you had class, right?”

A minute later she sent another. “And Friday and Saturday. How about it??” Eve was persistent. 

So I’d agreed to Wednesday, and told her I could do Thursday too if she wanted. I decided I needed to keep busy. If I just sat around my apartment for a whole evening, I knew I’d spend all my time dwelling on Mya and the thought of that was depressing.

Which reminded me, I’d wanted to touch base with Liv and see how their talk with Sarah had gone. I don’t know how many times that thought had popped into my head today, but it never seemed to be when I had time, and I seemed a little more scatterbrained these last few days than usual.

I really hoped Sarah had told them everything, because if she hadn't, I definitely was going to.

I honestly didn’t think Sarah would have hurt Mya. I was sure her feelings were real. But then, I also thought there was something a little off with her and I had no idea just how deep it went.

“Mya wasn’t an idiot,” I reassured myself. “She would have seen it if Sarah was totally psycho.” I was sure that was true. Well, pretty sure.

I just slipped behind the bar when I heard Leah, one of the other waitresses, give a little, “Oh fuck,” from down at the far end. I glanced up – I guess something about her tone caught my attention – and saw her wide eyed, staring at her phone.

I just shook my head. As far as I was concerned, she was about as useless as Robyn – no wonder they were friends. I could deliver half a dozen drinks in the time it took her to do one. She acted like she thought half her job was socializing with the customers and checking the latest texts on her phone. I probably would have given her shit if the place was any busier.

I heard another, “Oh fuck,” from her. It was softer, and the way her voice cracked at the end of it grabbed my attention. 

I looked a little more closely. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open and her face seemed almost frozen in horror. She was slowly shaking her head and still staring at her phone.

Jenna, the bartender, was busy, so I walked over to see what her problem was.

“Hey, Leah, is everything okay.”

For a couple of seconds she didn’t move, like she didn’t even hear me, and then slowly, almost mechanically, she turned her head my way. 

“It’s Robyn,” she said. There was a tremble in her voice, like she was on the brink of a break down.

“It’s about fucking time,” I almost said, but something about her tone and that shocked look on her face stopped me.

She glanced back at her phone and then slowly back to me. In that same shaky voice she said, “I just got a text from Jo. She’s . . . like, she’s a friend of Robyn’s. She . . . she . . . .” 

She stopped talking, and then it was like her face collapsed. She let out a wail and went from shock to uncontrollable crying in about a second. She was staring down at the floor, slowly shaking her head, moaning, “Oh God, oh God, oh God . . . .”

I had no idea what to do, because I had no idea what was going on. I took the phone from her – she didn’t try to resist – and started reading the texts.

The commotion caught Eve’s attention. She made her way down behind the bar too.

“What the fuck’s going on?” she hissed. I suspect after all the trouble Robyn was giving her, she had little patience for someone like Leah.

I held up a hand to try and calm her while I read through the chain of texts.

As Eve approached she looked at me. Maybe my expression told her it was serious. “What?” she asked me in a much quieter tone.

I turned to her. “Leah got a text, from a friend of Robyn’s.” I paused. I felt like I was being crushed under a car . . . like I was suffocating . . . and all the air was being squeezed out of my body. 

It was a struggle, and it took me a minute, but I finally forced the words out. “Robyn’s dead. She OD’d . . . probably some time on the weekend. They just found her in her apartment.”


	15. Chapter 15

I stepped out of the office and hurried to the hideous, square, shit-brown car that was parked out front. I slid into the passenger seat and looked over at Liv.

“Hey, how’s it going?” she asked. She gave me a pleasant smile as she put the car in gear. “Mexican okay with you? I know a truck that’s got the best tacos. There’s a park right next door where we can eat and talk.”

I nodded and told her it sounded good to me.

I watched her as she drove. I was trying to figure out what was going on in her head.

In the little communication I’d had with her in the last couple of days, I got the distinct impression she didn’t want anything to do with me. But she seemed almost warm to me now. It made me wonder.

I’d texted Liv this morning, asking if we could get together and talk. Her reply was a simple, “Why?” A definite indication she wasn’t all that excited by the prospect.

We’d exchanged a few texts the previous day. I’d asked about their interview with Sarah, but I got little information other than the meeting had happened. From her tone, it was clear it had been a somewhat frustrating experience. She made one comment that they talked more with the lawyer than with Sarah. What a surprise.

When I asked whether Sarah had a key to Mya’s place, Liv had just texted, “No comment.”

She’d elaborated a few seconds later – softening her answer I guess. “We can’t share information from the investigation. I’m sure I told you that. Sorry.”

I guess any appreciation for my help at Dusty’s only went so far. And apparently there was no consideration for the fact it was my best friend who had been murdered.

She did eventually agree to meet with me. “If you’re buying, I won’t be able to resist”, she’d texted. I guess there was a price to pay if I wanted information, or even an opportunity to pry some out of her. I was certain, though, that she’d have a harder time denying me if we were face to face.

She parked in a light industrial area – there were miles of warehouses, shops and offices all around. Apparently they were underserved by local restaurants – or maybe there were just no good local restaurants – because the food truck parked at the curb had a long line-up snaking down the sidewalk. 

“There shouldn’t be any cops around here,” Liv said as we made our way to the end of the line. “So we can talk.”

That sounded promising. Unless she was taking the opportunity to shut me down. We’d see.

The line ended up moving quickly. And she actually didn’t make me buy – she told me cops weren't allowed to accept meals from citizens.

“Or is that suspects?” I asked.

She gave me a little smile. “Yeah, not from them either.” 

She seemed to be taking it as a joke. I honestly wasn’t sure when I’d said it.

We found a sunny spot on the back side of the nearby park – well away from anyone else – and grabbed a vacant bench. 

Liv took a bite of her taco and let out a little sigh. “Mmm, so good.” Almost the same response as with her apple pie the other night. I was thinking she liked her food – only obviously not too much, given her slender build. Maybe her job forced her to skip too many meals, so she appreciated it when she did get a chance to eat. Who knows.

I found myself looking at her. I had to admit, I preferred her when her hair wasn’t pulled back so severely and I definitely preferred the skirt and top she wore at Dusty’s to the very business like pants and jacket she was wearing now.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked me, without even looking my way.

I had to laugh. I thought she was oblivious, just savoring her lunch.

“Just imagining actually getting some information out of you.” I kept my smile in place and my tone light.

She turned to me. It was her neutral cop face – eyes steady and alert, her expression friendly but neither particularly warm nor threatening. 

She let out a little sigh. “You know this is an investigation – a police investigation – right? I can’t just share information with you. That’s not how it works.” She gave her head a little shake. “Ripley would lose it if he thought I was talking to you about things. He might lose it if he knew I was talking to you, period. Do you understand?”

I ignored the prepared speech. “Did Sarah tell you she was at Mya’s that night? That they left Dusty’s and went back there? That she was completely out of it . . . or at least says she doesn’t remember anything?”

Liv just stared at me for several seconds. Finally she said, “Yeah, we know they left the club just after eleven. We know they went to Mya’s. We talked to the cabbie so we knew that going in.”

“And Sarah came out and told you that?” 

My question had Liv biting the corner of her lip again. I was certain she was deciding whether to tell me, or maybe what to tell me. I thought it was a good sign she was at least considering it.

“Did she admit to having a key to Mya’s?” On the one hand I was afraid if I asked too much, Liv would just shut down, but suddenly it seemed I needed to know.

As she sat there, frowning now, probably wondering how to tell me to go to hell and that I wasn’t getting anything else, I had an epiphany.

“Of course she had a key.” I was having a hard time containing my excitement. “Sarah didn’t work, she had nothing to do, and she always wanted to get away from her house. Her parents were always watching her, trying to control her, and that drove her crazy, so she went to Mya’s to just get away . . . to wait for Mya to get off work so they could hang out. And of course Mya would let her.”

The little smile on Liv’s face seemed to be a confirmation. After a second she said, “Yeah she does . . . and it sounds like maybe she did hang out there a bit.”

She gave her head a little shake. “It wasn’t easy getting information out of her.” She put her hand up, almost as if she wanted to correct herself. “Actually, I think if it was just her, she’d tell us anything we wanted, although even then . . . .”

Her face softened and I could see the sympathy in her eyes. “She’s in pretty bad shape. This obviously really affected her.”

I wasn’t there so maybe I had a little less sympathy for Sarah. I pushed on. 

“Do you have any idea when she left?” That was the big question. When did she go home . . . . “And how did she get home.”

I could see Liv loosening up, which made me happy. I just hoped she wouldn’t regret it later. I’d certainly make sure I didn’t do anything to make her.

She still took a few seconds. I’m sure this went against all her instincts. Finally she spoke, though. “She got picked up . . . just before midnight. A security guy who . . . .”

“Gino?” I hate when people interrupt me, so my bad. Was I just trying to prove how much I knew . . . so Liv wouldn’t feel like she was spilling too much? Maybe.

She nodded. “Yeah, Gino Torelli. I guess he works for the father . . . and at least part of the time as a sort of a body guard or babysitter for Sarah.”

It was my turn to nod. “Yeah, I’ve met him. But do you really think you can trust anything he says? I mean, he works for the father – a very powerful guy. If he’s like most fathers, I’m sure he’d do anything to protect his little girl. Don’t you think someone like Gino would say or do whatever to protect him and the family.”

The pinched face told me Liv was a little annoyed. “Yeah, no kidding.” she said. Her sharp tone had a bit of a, ‘what, do you think I’m an idiot’ to it.

“Sorry.” I deserved that little smack down. I guess I forgot this is what she did for a living.

“We have Mya’s phone records. There was a call from Mya to Gino at eleven forty-two. GPS on his vehicle puts him there just before twelve. So that all checks out. And that’s before the window the ME gave us.”

‘The window’. A nice non-descript way of indicating the time when someone was murdering my best friend. Out of the blue it smacked me and left me with that hollow, aching feeling inside. It took me a minute to gather myself. I don’t know if Liv noticed the sudden shift in my mood, but she kept quiet and let me regroup, so I assumed she sensed something.

After a few minutes I nodded. So Sarah was long gone before . . . . But someone, somehow connected to her still could have used her key. I was tempted to say it, but I didn’t.

I decided that would have already occurred to Liv and Ripley. This was what they did. They could probably handle it without my contribution, thank you very much.

I did have a question, though. “Sarah was at my place on Saturday . . . after I got home from talking to you and Ripley.”

From the way her eyes widened – just for an instant – I could see this was news to her. “When we were talking, she said she wasn’t feeling good at Dusty’s . . . she felt wiped out, and she barely remembers getting to Mya’s. She told me she had no idea how she got home.”

“Drinking?”

“She told me she didn’t have too much . . . only what Mya had. Mya was usually pretty good about keeping it under control.”

“Drugs?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She said no . . . and Mya told me she wasn’t using anything.” I shrugged again.

“She has a history.”

That was true, apparently. I wasn’t sure.

I took a second to think – really, to decide – and then asked, “Do you look at OD’s? There’s this woman named Robyn Fischer who worked at Dusty’s.”

Liv listened as I gave her the details.

When I’d showed up at the club on Thursday, I was a little surprised to see Leah there. I’d talked to her and she’d admitted she had no choice, that she needed the money. That I could understand.

“I’m really sorry about Robyn,” I told her, doing the same thing that everyone was doing to me and driving me crazy. It just felt wrong not to say something, though.

Luckily, Leah seemed much better with the condolences than I was.

I was about ready to leave her and start my shift when she said, “It’s just so . . . bizarre. I mean, like, Robyn was so paranoid about OD-ing. She was always, like, super careful, you know. And, like, for her, the drugs were always just for partying. I was so sure she, like, never did them at home, by herself. That was just so not her. I mean, she would have told me. I’m sure. And I’m sure she never used something heavy . . . like heroine. Like, she was paranoid. I said that, right? Yeah, she was paranoid about OD’ing. Like, real paranoid. So it just seems so weird, like, not even real, like it must be someone else and not really Robyn . . . .”

She continued to ramble on. She really shouldn’t have been there. I was a bit heartless, because I was thinking, “Shit, it’s going to get busy tonight and Leah’s going to be totally useless.” I was tempted to go tell Eve to send her home, but it was too late to get someone to fill in.

It wasn’t until later that I started to think about what Leah had said. It just seemed odd, another person connected to Dusty’s dying on the same weekend. 

I confirmed she’d been working Friday night. What if she’d seen something and the killer decided to eliminate her to tie up a loose end.

I looked at Liv. She had the cop face on again. There was no telling what she thought.

“Am I being paranoid? Am I seeing things where there’s nothing there? Am I letting my imagination run a little wild?”

She took a second. Finally she said, “Well, it is a bit of a coincidence. We don’t handle OD’s, but maybe I can reach out, talk to whoever was on the scene. See if anything looks off. Maybe even check the autopsy results.”

I suspect I was looking a bit optimistic, because Liv cautioned me. “Hey, don’t expect too much. Do you now how many OD’s we have every day. It’s an epidemic. So there’s a good chance its exactly what it looks like.”

She thought for a second, and then added, as much to herself as to me I think, “And don’t expect a whole lot of investigating went into this. We find a dead junkie, there’s not really much of a mystery. But I’ll take a look.”


	16. Chapter 16

Friday had been a hard night. I hadn't been sleeping the greatest, so it was catching up with me. I was a bit of a bitch the whole night at work. Oddly, it didn’t affect my tips all that much. I guess if you’ve got short enough shorts and a top that lets your tits hang out, guys don’t care all that much about your shitty attitude. Apparently my sparkling personality wasn’t what they were tipping me for. Shocking, I know.

So I had kind of mixed emotions when I saw the text Liv had sent me some time during the evening. She suggested we get together for a late breakfast or an early lunch or whatever. “Just to talk,” she said.

I didn’t even see the text until end of shift after 2:00 am. I just wanted to be home and in bed at that point. I didn’t want to think about the morning or having to getting up. I’d been looking forward to being able to lay in bed until I was good and ready to face the day.

I got a little of that déjà vu, too. It had been a week ago when I’d gotten up early Saturday morning to meet up with Mya . . . only she never showed. Thinking about that left me in an even shittier mood.

I almost texted back, “Can’t make it,” about two seconds after I read it. I didn’t though. I was tempted to do the same thing a couple of time on the cab ride home. I not sure what stopped me, but I still didn’t.

I crawled into bed without replying, but I lay there – in spite of how exhausted I felt – tossing and turning, thinking about it. Finally I gave up. I grabbed my phone and texted back. I’d be there.

Afterwards, I slept reasonably well. 

She wanted to meet at ten thirty, so I was up a little after nine – probably three or four hours before I fantasized about crawling out of bed. I showered, got ready and headed out.

It was a nice day, so I put on some shorts – not my Daisy Dukes – and a tank top under a light denim jacket. I’d pulled my hair back into a pony tail and almost as an afterthought added some lip gloss and a bit of mascara. 

“Who are you trying to impress,” I goaded myself. I decided I wanted to look at least presentable for Liv. 

The restaurant was reasonably close – just a fifteen minute walk which was fine with me, especially given how beautiful the day was. 

“At some point you’ll really have to get a car,” I thought, but I had enough other expenses that it never seemed to make sense to me. If I really needed one, I’d always borrowed Mya’s. 

“I guess you won’t be doing that anymore.” The realization hit me. I got that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach and that itchy, burning sensation in my eyes. I fought it off and kept walking.

I was probably five minutes late, which annoyed me. I hate when people aren’t on time.

When I walked into the little bistro, I spotted Liv right away, at a table in the back.

She smiled and waved me over. She definitely wasn’t giving me the cop face today. She had a beautiful smile.

“Hey,” she said as I slipped off my jacket and slid into the seat across from her. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Her cheery tone and her happy, dancing eyes made me think she really meant it.

“3:23? You were up that late deciding if you wanted to meet up with me?” She stuck out her lip in a pout. “Was it really that hard of a decision.”

I could tell she was just teasing. It was a bit of a different side from the ultra serious detective I’d seen up until now. I liked it. It made me wonder, though, if she wanted to get together for more than just discussing the case. If that was her intentions, I decided I was okay with it.

I gave her a little smile. “Hey, you should know, I don’t like to rush these big decisions.”

I thought I should clarify. “I was working until after two. I didn’t see your text until I was done.”

The little nod she gave made me think she knew that.

Liv looked so much more casual today. She had her hair down again, which I thought was much more attractive, and she wore jeans and a tank top. I definitely preferred those to the suit.

Was I getting a little thing for the detective? Maybe. I realized it had been a while since I’d had an interest in anyone. Shitty timing, and probably not the best situation, but you can’t control these things.

Mya, the serial dater, could never understand me. She thought it was unnatural to be comfortable being alone. She was always either dating or on the hunt for the next one.

But then, I never understood her need to always have someone either. As far at that went, we were on opposite ends of the spectrum.

When we’d first became friends, Mya was always trying to set me up – because she was sure I needed to have someone in my life. I had to set her straight – which I did in no uncertain terms. It was one of those moment where our friendship might have gone another direction and died. Mya took my words to heart, though – at least for the most part.

So I found myself watching the detective carefully as we exchanged pleasantries.

Liv already had a cup of coffee. We flagged down a waitress and I ordered one too, plus my raspberry scone. Liv ordered some fruit and yogurt. The first sign I’d seen that she ever ate healthy.

My coffee came quickly. I took a sip and glanced over at Liv again.

She’d been so cheery initially, but now she’d gotten quiet. Her eyes were down – she only seemed to glance up at me every now and then – and she was fidgeting a lot with her spoon . . . playing with it, giving her coffee a stir, licking it off and then fidgeting some more. I thought something was on her mind.

“How’s the case going?” That was the topic we both had an interest in.

She gave a little shrug. “Um . . . making a little progress I guess.” Her flat tone made it sound like they weren't really making progress. I wondered if that’s what was bothering her.

I was just going to ask her about Robyn when she said, totally out of the blue, “I met Mya once.”

She didn’t look up at me when she said it . . . her eyes stayed fixed on the table. She stopped fidgeting with the spoon – in fact, she got very still. Her tone was quiet and seemed hesitant, unsure.

I guess I got very still too. I think I was trying to decide if I’d misheard her.

It lasted for several seconds – neither of us moving or speaking.

Liv glanced up at me. Her eyes were wary. I could see the same uncertainty I’d heard in her voice.

Her eyes quickly fell again and she was back to playing with the spoon.

“When?” I wanted to know. 

I think I was less concerned by the fact they’d met than by Liv’s reaction to it. I mean, it was a surprise, for sure, that the person investigating Mya’s death had previously met her. I think I was a little reassured that she was telling me. But something about it certainly made Liv uncomfortable, and that was making me uncomfortable.

She didn’t respond so I repeated myself. “When, Liv? When did you meet her?” And what was the big deal about it. The longer she remained silent, the more concern I got.

She was biting the corner of her lip again – so she was thinking. She glanced up at me before she started speaking.

“About six months ago. There was a robbery gone bad that I was working. Most of it happened in a back office. The place got kind of trashed, so they decided to redo it. I guess Mya got hired to do the painting.”

I vaguely remembered her talking once about doing a job in a place where a guy had been shot, and how it was giving her the creeps.

“I came by to talk to the owner, update him, ask him a few questions. Mya was there just finishing up. I guess we talked for a couple of minutes.”

I had been watching Liv. Her eyes stayed down while she spoke, focused apparently on her coffee cup. She was still, but now that she stopped talking she returned to playing with the spoon. After a couple of seconds I think she noticed. She seemed to make a conscious effort to set it down and leave it alone. A moment later, though, she picked it up again and was stirring her coffee.

I thought about what she’d said. She had a few words with a random woman several months ago and that stood out enough to remember it. And for it to bother her. Something wasn’t adding up. 

“You had coffee with her after . . . or a drink, didn’t you?” I tried to make it a statement and not some kind of accusation. I was starting to get a sense where this might be heading.

Liv’s head shot up. Her eyes widened for a second and her mouth hung open . . . although she quickly got herself under control. I saw that wariness again. I knew I’d guessed right.

I didn’t know Liv – certainly not well – but I knew Mya. She could be incredibly charming, definitely flirty and certainly persistent if she met someone she found interesting. And knowing her like I did – or like I had – there was no doubt in my mind that she would have found Detective Pope interesting.

I kept my eyes on Liv’s. I sensed she wanted to turn away, but she didn’t. It was like she didn’t have the willpower to do it.

“You went back to her place, I assume.” Again I tried to keep my voice flat. I wasn’t judging.

I glanced down at her left hand. There wasn’t a ring there . . . but there was a noticeable mark. She’d worn a ring – probably for years. I couldn’t tell if she’d got rid of it recently . . . or if she took it off just to meet up with me.

My comment had an effect on her. She started with the shallow, rapid breaths and her eyes widened and stayed that way, almost frightened now.

I noticed how her fingers found that spot where her ring used to be. I wasn’t sure she was even aware she was rubbing it. Probably she played with her ring when she was nervous. Or maybe she used to.

“I was separated,” she finally said and her eyes fell back to the table. Her voice was tense . . . definitely defensive. I could tell she was struggling to keep herself under control. 

She took a ragged breath and pushed on. “We were in the middle of a divorce. I . . . I was stupid. It was a stupid thing to do.” Her eyes came up to mine. They looked watery, but I could sense she was getting some control back.

“It was only the once. I told her . . . I couldn’t. It was stupid. If my husband found out . . . . we were fighting for custody. If he found out . . . .”

“What, it would make you look bad? That you slept with someone . . . or that you slept with a woman?” I was maybe a little harsher than I intended. It was one of those things that always got me pissed.

Hey, I knew it wasn’t Liv’s fault. That’s just the way society is. So I was probably being unfair taking it out on her. Some things you just can’t help, though.

To her credit, Liv didn’t back down. Her eyes bored into me.

“Either. Both. You can pretend it doesn’t matter, but I had no idea how the courts might see it. These were my babies I was fighting for. I didn’t want to lose them because I was stupid.”

I eyed her. I wasn’t sure what to make of this new information. I mean, I understood what she did – let’s face it, Mya had no trouble getting me into bed when I first met her. What she did didn’t bother me. And I understood why it was only the one time. 

“So is everything settled now? The divorce and the custody?” Was there a reason I suddenly wanted to know?

She nodded and even managed a small smile. “Yeah. I got custody. He gets them on the weekends for now – that’s where they are today. It . . . I guess it all worked out okay.”

I nodded and gave her a smile. I was happy because I was sure that fact made her happy.

A thought struck me. “Does Ripley know?”

Liv’s face dropped and her eyes widened again. She was back to being wary, maybe even frightened.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. She just stared at me.

I guess I knew the answer. I doubted they’d let her work on the case if they knew of her previous connection. 

“Hey, I’m not telling anybody,” I assured her. I could have been offended that it even entered her mind that I might, but what was the point.

My words had an immediate effect. She let out her breath, like she’d been holding it. Her eyes softened and a small smile found its way onto her face.

She closed her eyes, took another breath and gave her head a slow shake. When she opened her eyes again they were almost back to normal. 

“I’m not even sure why I told you.” Her voice was soft, but I could hear the honesty in it. “I guess I just wanted you to know.” 

She paused and her face turned more serious. “I liked Mya . . . I really did. So I guess I wanted you to know, I’ve got a reason too for getting this person – whoever they are.”

I did take some comfort in that. I placed my hand on hers and gave it a little squeeze. “Thanks,” I said. I knew that probably wasn’t easy for her. I hoped she could hear just how appreciative I was.

We were quiet for a few minutes, sipping our coffee and eating our breakfast, but it was a comfortable silence.

The smile slowly made its way back onto Liv’s face, and I was having trouble keeping one off my face too. I couldn’t deny the feeling I had that something was developing between us.

Finally I remembered Robyn.

I asked, and Liv told me she’d talked to the guys who’d responded to the call. “They said it wasn’t too pleasant. She’d been dead for a few of days. They said the ME on the scene thought Sunday. The needle was still right there. As soon as they saw that, and given they didn’t see anything else, they called it. An OD.”

“And heroine. Her friend said she didn’t do heroine.”

Liv eyed me for a second before she responded. “It’s not necessarily something you might want to share with a friend – if you’re using.”

I nodded. That was true.

“They were going to get the autopsy report sent over. It’s probably on my desk right now. I’ll take a look at it and see if anything jumps out at me. The timing’s probably just a coincidence, though. I don’t see how it would tie in. Do you?”

I gave it a second’s thought, but I really didn’t. Mya and Robyn weren't connected in any way I could think of other than they were both regulars at Dusty’s. It certainly could be just a coincidence.

I shook my head. “Yeah, I don’t know. I can’t think of anything specific.”

Liv nodded. She was quiet again, but I could feel her watching me. She was biting her lip again too. 

I just looked at her. “What?” That serious cop face was back and I was wondering why.

She took her time, but finally she spoke. “Are you still in touch with Sarah?”

The question caught me off guard. I’m sure it showed on my face.

“I haven't talked with her since last Saturday.” My sharp tone made it clear, I’m sure, that I had no interest in talking to her.

“She keeps calling you, though.” It was a statement.

“How the hell would you know that?” The words were out of my mouth before I had a second to think. I was pissed. What the fuck was going on? Were they monitoring my phone? Were they listening in on all my calls and texts? Could they do that? Did that mean I might actually be a suspect?

I’m sure those questions played out on my face. With each one I got more pissed. That’s not something I hide really well.

Liv sat back and put her hands up. “Whoa, relax,” she said, trying to head me off before I blew. “We were checking Sarah’s phone records and we happened to see your number coming up a lot. We could see they were short calls – we assumed voice mail – but I just wanted to ask.”

I locked my eyes on hers. “Am I a suspect?” I pretty much spat out the words.

Liv kept eye contact. She never blinked or tried to turn away. “No you’re not.” It was her neutral cop voice. Was that a voice I could trust?

I took a second. “Would you necessarily tell me if I was?” I didn’t think she was lying, but I knew some people were very good liars. That might even be something they train cops to do. I didn’t know.

She took her time, but her eyes stayed on mine. Finally she said, “Maybe yes . . . maybe no.” She just gave a little shrug, like she was saying, ‘hey, I’m being honest with you’. 

I actually gave her more credit for that answer than a flat denial. 

“But you’re not a suspect.” She repeated it, but I still felt leery. 

We were silent again. It wasn’t quite the same comfortable silence we’d shared earlier. 

I was letting all this new information roll around in my head. I knew it was crazy to think I’d ever harm Mya, but did the cops understand that? I thought they did – that Liv did – but now I had no idea.

“The reason I asked about Sarah . . . we were wondering if you could maybe get together with her . . . talk . . . find out a few things.”

I looked at Liv, trying to make sense of this . . . and then it dawned on me. “So if I talk to her . . . there’s no lawyer, and no daddy there to tell her not to answer. You think she’ll open up to me . . . because she thinks I’m a friend.”

I was having mixed feelings. I didn’t like being used, and that was exactly how I was starting to feel. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling quite so attracted to Detective Pope.

I didn’t exactly have any obligation to protect Sarah, I knew. Mya had been my friend. I’d do anything to help find out what happened to her. And to find the person responsible.

I had no doubts Liv understood that . . . and maybe was trying to take advantage of it. That’s probably why I felt like I was being manipulated.

I went back and forth in my head for several seconds. I wasn’t feeling any happier when I finally looked up at Liv. “What do you want to know?”


	17. Chapter 17

I was maybe marginally better at work on Saturday night . . . but not because my mood had improved any. By the time I’d left breakfast with Liv I was back to feeling shitty. Even the pleasant walk back to my place hadn't helped any.

Nobody likes to feel like they’re being used . . . and that’s exactly how I was feeling. Maybe it was for a good cause, and I didn’t exactly feel like I owed Sarah a whole lot – especially if she wasn’t making any effort to help out. Nonetheless, it felt like a calculated decision to play on my feelings for Mya to ‘force’ me to help out their investigation. And it pissed me off.

By the time I got to work, though, I was slightly better . . . only because I was distracted.

One thing I hadn't mentioned to Detective Pope – when I was telling her about Robyn – was that her friend, Leah had told me a name. She’d said some dealer named Tyson was Robyn’s connection, but she was sure he didn’t even sell heroine. 

“She would never use that. Really,” Leah had told me, for probably the tenth time. She was convinced, at least.

Liv was right, of course – if people moved on to the hard stuff, they wouldn’t necessarily advertise it to their friends. I knew that.

I’d asked Leah where I could find this Tyson, but she swore she had no idea. Drugs weren’t her thing, she’s insisted. I knew that was bullshit. I’d seen her and Robyn partying, and I was pretty sure they were both on something.

I also thought it was bullshit that she didn’t know this Tyson, but the more I bullied her to get the information, the more she shut down.

I had actually considered telling Liv about Tyson, but I knew some street hustler like that wouldn’t give the cops shit. 

I wasn’t sure he’d tell me anything either . . . but I really thought I’d have a better chance.

Halfway through my shift it occurred to me that I might know someone who could tell me how to find this Tyson . . . and who might be willing to help me out. 

I timed my break so it was just as she was coming down off the stage. I gave her a smile and a little wave as I made my way to the back room where I could get off my feet and relax for five minutes.

Lydia was one of the dancers. She’d been around for a couple of years, and she was a regular at the club. She probably made it back to our place about every five or six weeks.

I always thought she was one of the best performers we had. She was a slim, shapely blonde with a nice set of tits – that helped, naturally – but she also knew how to put on a show, how to get the audience’s attention, how to move, and how to tease them so they never took their eyes off of her. I’d noticed that she always had her eyes focused out into the crowd. I’m sure half the guys there thought she was looking directly at them.

The thing I always found amusing about Lydia was that as soon as she put on her street clothes, she had no interest in guys at all. She did have a bit of an interest in me, though, and she wasn’t at all shy about showing it. 

So I wasn’t surprised when she slipped into the back room wearing just a thin robe that hung open more than a little to offer a generous view of all that was underneath.

“Hey there,” she said. She grinned at me. She wasn’t at all subtle about eyeing me either.

“Hey. Nice show.” I returned her smile.

I have to admit, I was often tempted by Lydia. She was on the road so much, though, I just knew I could never make it work . . . at least not longer term. I also got a sense that maybe Lydia had a favorite in every city she visited. That didn’t do much for my level of interest.

“I heard about Mya. Hey, I’m really sorry. She was so sweet. And I know you two were close. That’s just so horrible.” She came over and gave me a hug . . . which lasted a long time.

More condolences. God, there was no escaping them. At least Lydia seemed genuine. And I decided I really didn’t mind the way she hugged me.

I found myself thinking . . . maybe I could use a night of fun, followed by some hot, no-strings-attached sex. It seemed like it might be a good release, and God knows, after the last week, I could use one. And I had few doubts Lydia would have no problems with the idea. In fact, I was sure she’d be all for it.

Just then Tito poked his head into the room. “What the fuck are you two up to?” He had a bit of a smirk on his face, like he was only too happy to imagine what we might be doing.

I gave him a scowl.

“Come on, girl, you just did your set. This is prime time for lap dances. There’s already a couple of guys asking after you. Get that pretty little ass of yours back out there and make those guy’s dreams come true. Come on now.”

Lydia turned on him and snarled, “Do you mind. I need a second.”

Tito could give me shit all day, but Lydia was talent – she put asses in seats and cash in the till. She’d have no problems getting bookings at other clubs when she was in town if he pissed her off too much. She knew that . . . and so did he. So Tito backed off.

He held his hands up. “Hey, no problem, girl. Take a few. You and Mikki have your girl time. But then get changed and get your ass back out the there. Your fans await.”

With that he turned and left.

Tito was the only one – ever – who called me Mikki. I was not a big fan. 

So I said a soft, “Fuck you, asshole,” to his back as he went.

When Lydia turned back to me the anger evaporated and she was all smiles.

I did my best to erase Tito’s visit from my mind and turned my attention back to her.

Lydia and Mya – and Robyn – travelled in some of the same party circles. And Lydia was certainly no sweet, innocent girl. I had no doubt she’d know where to get whatever pills she needed to have a good time. So I was thinking she might know this Tyson.

I didn’t know if she knew Robyn or had heard what happened to her, but I was afraid if I mentioned it, it might sidetrack us.

So I just said, “Hey, I was thinking, maybe we should get together some time . . . go out . . . have some fun.”

Lydia’s eyes widen just a bit . . . and so did her smile. My suggestion clearly caught her off guard. No surprise there. How many times had she made the same suggestion only to have me put her off?

She gave me a big grin and I could see her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Mmm, I like the sounds of that. You want to go party after we’re done?”

“No, I’m always dead after a shift. How about Monday. You’re off Monday, right?” I gave her a little pout. “Or have you already made plans?”

The club was closed on Mondays – typically there wasn’t enough business to make it worth while. Besides, everybody needed at least one day off.

Some of the girls, though, did other gigs on their day off. So it wasn’t a guarantee that she’d be free.

Lydia just grinned at me. She reached out and ran a finger under my chin and then traced it over my lips. “Nothing I can’t change.” 

I gave her finger a little kiss and sucked it into my mouth for a second. I saw her eyes widen and her nostrils flare. 

She took a quick breath and in a throaty voice said, “Are you sure you don’t want to catch up after your shift? We could, I don’t know, go back to my place and have a drink . . . .” Her smile grew and her eyes sparkled . . . hinting at something maybe even better. “Or we could just skip the drinks . . . .” 

I let her finger go and gave her a smile. “Let’s save it ‘til Monday. That way I won’t be falling asleep on you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry. You won’t be falling asleep . . . .”

I gave her a patient look, and after a second she sighed and did her own little pout. “Okay, fine. Monday.”

A second later her smile was back. “I can’t wait. Make sure I get your number before you leave tonight.”

I nodded. “Yeah, for sure.”

The way she was grinning made me laugh. We just shared a smile for a few seconds, and then I said, “You better get back out there, before Tito has a fit.”

“Fuck Tito,” she laughed, but then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and turned to leave.

She was almost to the door when I said, “I was thinking of picking up a few party favors. I heard over at Dusty’s some of the girls use this guy, Tyson. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find him, would you?”

She stopped, and then slowly turned back to me. She raised an eyebrow and gave me a crooked little grin. “I didn’t think you were into the chemicals. So what, are you turning into a bad girl?” Her little smirk made me think she was pleased to think that might be the case.

I furrowed my brow and gave my head a little shake. “After the week I’ve had, I feel like I need something.” I was silent for a second before I raised my eyes back up to her. “Besides, we might want a little something for Monday night, right?”

She gave me a concerned look – which was sweet I guess. She warning me about becoming dependent on drugs to get me through these hard times, and I reassured her . . . and then she gave me the address.

When I asked if this guy would be selling after my shift she laughed and said, “Hey, the after hour clubs will just be starting up. Prime time for party people looking for a little something to crank up their night.” 

For the rest of my shift I put together my plan.


End file.
